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STERLING'S 

POETICAL WORKS. 



S jerling's Poems are full of tenderness, fancy, and truth, and especially 
to be recommended for correct versification and good English. They have 
the pleasing tone of Wordsworth, without the mannerism of phrase arid 
imagery by which the imitators of that poet«are marked and distinguished. 
" The Sexton's Daughter," is a simple but not hackneyed tale, conducted 
with a great deal of skill in the narrative, and leaving an unusual entire- 
ness of impression on the heart of the reader. It seems to show the au- 
thor master of that rare talent among Poets, of relating the necessary 
facts in verse, without discontinuance of the poetic tone and impulse. 

London Quarterly Review. 

"Sterling's 'Sexton's Daughter,' so pure, so profound— has sunk and 
is sinking, into how many thoughtful souls;"— Professor Wilson in 
Blackwood's Magazine. 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



OF 



JOHN STEELING. 



Feeling, Thought, and Fancy be 
Gentle sister Graces three : 
If these prove averse to me, 
They will punish— pardon Ye ! 



FIRST AMERICAN EDITION. 



PHILADELPHIA : 

HERMAN HOOKER, 

CORNER OF CHESNUT AND FIFTH STREETS. 

1842. 



f WASH\5S 



TO THE READER. 



During the last five or six years the readers of Black- 
wood's Edinburgh Magazine have been from time to 
time delighted by the appearance in that popular mis- 
cellany of various papers under the signature of Ar- 
celeus. Among them has been a series in prose, en- 
titled Legendary Lore, from which The Onyx Ring, 
a story of thrilling interest, and several other essays 
and tales, have been reprinted in some of the best pe- 
riodicals of this country. But superior to the prose 
articles — beautiful and highly wrought as these are — 
are the author's poetical writings, distinguished alike 
for purity of thought, delicacy of fancy, depth and 
tenderness of feeling, and elegance of diction. 

A collection of these poems, with one much longer 
than any that had appeared in Blackwood's Maga- 
zine, entitled Tlie Sexton's Daughter, was published 
in a volume in London, in 1S39, and it was then dis- 
covered that they were written by John Sterling, in 
early life a clergyman, and latterly a student in philo- 
sophy and man of letters. Since 1839 he has written 
his Hymns of a Hermit, and several other poems, 
which are included in this first American edition 
of his works. 

1* 



VI TO THE READER. 

John Sterling is a poet of high powers. He is a 
man of genius, a quiet, chaste scholar, and a most 
skilful artist. His writings belong to that compara- 
tively small class which constitute the standard litera- 
ture of our language. The educated and the right 
minded read them and become wiser and better. 
" They will live, for a spirit is in them." 

In the last few years, a purer poetical taste than 
had before prevailed, has been growing up among 
both writers and readers in America, and I doubt not 
therefore that this book will be welcomed with that 
gladness which its unobtrusive worth should inspire. 

RUFUS W. GRISWOLD. 
Philadelphia, March 1842. 



PREFACE. 



Wild Flowers, and Leaves that mystic juice distil, 

Unsorted, uncombined, one basket fill : 

But if in each be aught of good or fair, 

Ask not too nicely why 'tis here or there i 

And meanest weeds to some perhaps recall 

A field beloved, or childish garden small. 



CONTENTS. 

THE SEXTON'S DAUGHTER. PAGE 

PART 1 25 

PART II. 33 

PART III. 39 

PART IV. . . . . . .49 

PARTY 56 

PART VI. 65 

part vn 73 

PART VIII 81 

PART IX 90 

APHRODITE ....... 99 

JOAN D'ARC . . . . . . 113 

HYMNS OF A HERMIT. 

HYMN 1 125 

HYMN II 128 

HYMN m. 132 

HYMN IV 134 

HYMN V 136 

HYMN VI. 137 

hymn vn. 140 

HYMN VIII 142 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

HYMNS OF A HERMIT. PAGE 

HYMN IX. 145 

HYMN X 148 

HYMN XI. 151 

HYMN XII. . ..... 153 

HYMN XIII 155 

HYMN XIV 156 

HYMN XV. . . . . . . 158 

HYMN XVI 160 

HYMN XVII. . . . . . . 163 

HYMN XVIII 165 

otho ni ....... . 169 

ALFRED THE HARPER 175 

LADY JANE GREY 182 

LOUIS XV 187 

SHAKESPEARE 190 

COLERIDGE 192 

MIRABEAU . , 194 

WELLINGTON 198 

DAEDALUS . . . . . . 202 

THE HUSBANDMAN .... . . 204 

THE HUNTER . 206 

THE MARINERS 207 

THE DEAREST . . . * . . . . 208 

THE ROSE AND THE GAUNTLET. . . . 210 



CONTEXTS. IX 

PAGE 

THE LADY OF THE CASTLE 212 

215 

216 

218 

202 



THE SEA MAID 
THE SPICE-TREE . 
THE PENITENT 
THE MOSS ROSE . 



TO A CHILD 222 

THE SONG OF EVE TO CAIN ..... 224 

ABELARD TO HELOISE 227 

THE AGES 229 

PROSE AND SONG 232 

THE SHAFTS OF SONG 233 

THE POET'S HOME ...... 234 

THE HAPPY HOUR 235 

ON READING A NEWSPAPER .... 237 

THE TWO MIRRORS ...... 240 

SCEPTICS AND SPECTRES .... 241 

STEAM LAND 242 

SEEING AND DOING 243 

ELEVEN TRIADS 244 

ROME 246 

THE OWL 247 

THOUGHTS IN RHYME . . . . . 249 



THE 



SEXTON'S DAUGHTER. 



PART I. 



I. 
Beside the church upon the hill 

A cottage stood of aspect gray, 
Whose owner's task it was to till 

The three fair fields that near him lay; - 

n. 
An orchard small, a garden-plot, 

By closest -hedge-rows fenced around, 
With Ieafey tufts adorned the spot, 

And marked the churchyard's ancient bound. 

iii. 
The church and tall church-spire at hand, 

Around the cottage spread repose, 
And gravely watch the teeming land; 

Where slow a stream through meadows flows, 
2 



26; 



IV. 

Below, upon the prosperous plain, 
From that high church the gazer sees 

A village small, with fields of grain, 

And pastures bright, and shading trees, 

v. 

To him who owned the church-side farm, 
The churchyard yielded gain as well; 

The Sexton he, whose strenous arm 
Dug all the graves, and tolled the belh 

VI. 

Sad seemed the strong gray-headed man,. 

Of lagging thought and careful heed; 
He shaped his life by rule and plan, 

And hoarded all beyond his need. 

VII. 

One daughter, little Jane, had he, 
The silent Sexton's only child ; 

And when she laughed aloud and free,. 
The grave old Sexton smiled. 

VIII. 

For she within his heart had crept, 
Himself he could not tell you why,, 

But often he has almost wept 
Because he heard her cry. 

IX. 

All else to him appeared as dead, 
Awaiting but the shroud and pall; 

It seemed that to himself he said, 
" I soon shall dig the graves of alL"' 



the sexton's daughter. 27 

X. 

And beast, and man, and home, and wife, 

He saw with cold, accustomed eye; 
Jane only looked so full of life 

As if that she could never die. 

XI. 

And when she still could hardly walk 
By holding fast his wrinkled finger, 

So well he loved her prattling talk, 
He often from his work would linger. 

XII. 

Around her waist in sport he tied 
The coffin-ropes for leading-strings, 

And on his spade she learnt to ride, 
And handled all his churchyard things. 

xin. 

Henceforth on many a summer day, 
While hollowing deep the sunlit grave, 

Beside him he would have her stay, 
And bones to be her playthings gave. 

xrv. 

At whiles the busied man would raise 
Above the brink his bare gray head, 

With quiet smile a moment gaze, 
And turn to labour for the dead. 

xv. 
And when, slow-winding up the hill, 

Between the elms, the funeral came, 
Her voice would sound so cheeriy shrill 

As if 'twere all an infant's game. 



: 28 THE SEXTON r S DAUGHTER. 

XVI. 

But when the burial rite was there, 
The drooping forms, the weeping eyes, 

The throb of awe, the hallowing prayer, 
The sudden whisper lost in sighs, — 

XVII. 

The child then sought her father's side, 
And spoke in wondering accents low, 

And he with settled tone replied, 

" Hush, hush, my dear ! 'tis always so." 

XVIII. 

One day upon a baby's grave 

His morning's work must Simon spend, 
And Jane her seat by him must have, 

And all his well-known task attend. 

XIX. 

Soon 'mid the herbage soft and green 
The little place of rest was made, 

Whence daisy-covered meads were seen, 
And where the hawthorn cast a shade. 

xx 

Old Simon, almost resting now, 
With slackened stroke his labour plied, 

And raising oft his moistened brow, 
With longer looks his darling eyed. 

XXI. 

Then Jane cried out in sudden glee, 
" Oh, what a pretty grave is there ! 

It would be just a bed for me, 

With room enough and none to spare." 



29 



XXII. 

The father's hand let fall the spade, 
His cheek grew pale, he heaved a groan; 

And when the children's graves he made, 
Thenceforth he always worked alone. 

XXIII. 

These hours, and others more, when he 
In fields was labouring far away, 

Dear Jane beside her mother's knee 

Would oftener pass than she would play. 

xxrv. 
The child and woman thus akin, 

Two shapes of earth's obscurest throng, 
Had love as true, both hearts within, 

As e'er was told in lofty song. 

XXV. 

I know not — 'twas not said of yore— 
But still to me, a man, it seems 

That motherhood is something more 
Than e'en a father's fondness deems. 

XXVI. 

The teeming breast has thrills, 'tis plain, 
More deep than e'er its partner knew 

A mystery of hopeful pain, 

That makes a greater blessing due. 

xxvn. 

And thus, though far in years apart 
To them belonged one will alone ; 

The youthful and the elder heart 
To one true heart had grown. 

2% 



30 



XXVIII. 

The mother bore an humble mind, 

Unskilled in aught that's known to few, 

Save this, which not in all we find, 
A zeal to practise all she knew. 

XXIX. 

And Mary from her bosom's core 
Of many things could speak to Jane, 

That, never finding voice before, 
Had mutely dwelt, but not in vain. 

XXX. 

Of change and trial here on earth, 
Of hopes by which we conquer sins, 

And of the spirit's better birth 

Than that which first our life begins. 

XXXI. 

And sometimes, when the closing day 
Shot through the cottage window-pane, 

And o'er the mother cast a ray 

That kindled all the heart of Jane,— 

xxxii. 
Then starting she would turn and look, 

As if it were the cloven sky 
That o'er the quiet face and book 

Shot out its glory suddenly. 

xxxirr. 
And oft while Mary mildly spake 

In words now flowing smooth and free, 
Erom Simon's eyes a gleam would break; 

So both were taught, his child and he. 



THE SEXTON'S DAUGHTER, .51 

XXXIV. 

Thus from within and from without, 
She grew, a flower of mind and eye ; 

'T was love that circled her about, 
And love in her made quick reply. 

xxxv. 
Church, too, and churchyard were to Jane 

A realm of dream, and sight, and lore ; 
And, but for one green field or twain, 

All else ! a sea without a shore. 

XXXVI. 

Of this her isle the central rock 

Stood up in that old tower sublime, -, 

Which uttered from its wondrous clock 
The only thought she had of Time. 

xxx vn. 

For her at Sunday service-hours 

The world she knew expanded wide ; ; 

The chiming. bell had wizard powers 
To bid new visions round her glide, 

xxxvni. 
For now come trooping up the hill 

The young and old, the faint and strong: t 
The white-frocked men the sunshine fill, 

And girls, a^ many-coloured throng. 

xxxix. 
The sires of all from age to age 

Were laid below the grassy mould, 
Whose hillocks were to Jane a page 

Inscribed with lessons manifold. 



32. the sexton's daughter. 

XL. 

And in the porch or on the green, 

And in the pause between the prayers, 

She marked each various face and mien, 
With eyes that softened theirs. 

XLI. 

She marked the hoary head serene, 

Or happy look of youthful glow, 
As if a sunbeam played between 

Those hearts and her to warm her so. 

XLII. 

And brows where darker passions wrought, 
And strength with more of ill than good, 

Would stamp upon her infant thought 
A fear not understood. 

XLIII. 

She turned from these and blushed, and heard 
With deeper sense the prayer and praise, 

And oft her soul was vaguely stirred 
By Israel's old prophetic lays, 

XLIW 

The child between her parents knelt, 
Who prayed the more to God above, 

Because so close to them they felt 
The dearest gift of heavenly love. 

XLV. 

And well that heart the mother knew 
Which he but as from far could prize; 

For scarce an impulse in it grew 
But Mary first had seen it rise. 



PART H. 



I. 
Years flowed away and never brought 

The weary weight of care to Jane; 
They prompted pity, wonder, thought, 

The strength of life without the pain. 

n. 

To her new beauty largely given 

From deeper fountains looked and smiled; 
And, like a morning dream from heaven, 

The woman gleamed within the child. 

m. 

Her looks were oftener turned to earth, 
But every glance was lovlier now ; 

'Twas plain that light of inward birth 

Now kissed the sunshine round her brow, 

IV. 

Withdrawn was she from passing eyes 
By more than Fortune's outward law, 

By bashful thoughts like silent-sighs, 
By Feeling's lone, retiring awe. 

v. 
So fair the' wave that twilight weaves 

Around its golden shows, 
Or shadow of its own green leaves 

Upon the crimson rose. 



34: the sexton's daughter, 

VI. 

And she had reached a higher state, 
Though infant joys about her clung 

With gaze more fixed a graver fate 
Above her beauty hung. 

VII. 

So fares it still with human life, 

Which, ever journeying on, 
Unconscious climbs from peace to strife, 

Till new ascents be won. 

VIIL 

And thus about her youth was spread 
The shadow thrown by coming Time, 

The expectance deepening o'er her head 
Of passion's sad Sublime ; 

IX. 

While all that on the dreadless flower 
The war of Will and Doom may bring, 

Unseen, though near, awaits the hour 
When that loud bell shall ring:. 



Heavy and sharp came down the blow 
On her who Iiad no shield of pride ; 

Who never felt the grasp of wo 
Until her mother died. 

XI. 

The gold-haired maid and hoary man 
Together knelt beside the bed, 

And saw with helpless gaze the span 
That parts the living from the dead. 



the sexton's daughter. "A5 

xn. 

Slow dragged the following day: the dear 

Familiar life for him was gone; 
The past was something dark and drear 

That he must look at now alone. 

xin. 

But all his fondest heart awoke, 

And opened toward his orphan child; 

To her with cheerful ease he spoke, 

And wondering marked she never smiledl 

XIV. 

She knew not what the mind will bear, 

Yet only learn the more to brave ; 
It seemed the world so large and fair 

Must sink within her mother's grave. 

xv. 
That grave himself would Simon make, 

And she could only turn and groan, 
When first the spade she saw him take 7 . 

As if the grief were not his own. 

XVI. 

Then soon the burial pang was o'er, 
And calmer flowed the stream again;; 

But Jane would never witness more 
An open grave, or funeral train. 

XVII. 

The maiden now was left to be 

Her father's only prop and stay, 
And in her looks was plain to see 

A. heart resolved, but never gay;; 



>8 THE SEXTON'S DAUGHTER. 

XVIII. 

A loveliness that made men sad, 

Like some delightful, mournful ditty, 

Too fair for any but the bad 

To think of without love and pity. 

XIX. 

Each household task she duly wrought, 
No change but one the house could know, 

And peace for her was in the thought, 
Her mother would have wished it so. 

xx. 

But often in the silent hours 

Of summer dawn, while all were sleeping, 
She rose to gather fragrant flowers, 

And wet their leaves with weeping. 

XXI. 

She strewed them o'er her mother's grave, 
To wither where her joys had faded; 

No growth she deemed could either have, 
Though shower and sunshine aided. 

XXII. 

And oft she read her bible there, 
Her mother's book that well she knew ; 

And felt that in the hallowed air 
Its meanings brighter grew. 

xxm. 
One morning, while she sat intent 

Beside the grassy mound, 
Her brow upon the headstone leant, 

Her book upon the ground, — 



the sexton's daughter. 37 

xxrv. 

The sunshine sparkled through the sky, 
The breeze and lark sang on together, 

And yet there seemed, afar and nigh, 
One silent world of azure weather. 

xxv. 

But from beyond the old yew-tree 
A voice disturbed the maiden's ear, 

And in the lone tranquillity 
It sounded strangely near. 

XXVI. 

'Twas now a broken word of prayer, 

'Twas now a sob of " Mother ! Mother \" 

And all the anguish bursting there 

The heart, she felt, had sought to smother. 

xxvn. 

No woman's voice so deeply rings, 

Though men by graves but seldom pray ; 

And, ah ! how true the grief that brings 
A man to weep by light of day ! 

XXVIII. 

With wonder awed, with pity stirred, 
From off the book she turned away; 

And still the same low sob she heard, 
And still he seemed to pray. 

XXIX. 

With sorrow moved for others' woes, 

The maiden rose upon her knee ; 
Upon her feet the maiden rose, 

And stood beside the old yew-tree. 
3 



33 THE SEXTON^ DAUGHTER. 



And doubting, trembling, there she stood, 
Nor dared the mourning man to see ; 

And, though her thoughts were all of good, 
She feared to stay, she feared to flee. 



Against the broad yew-trunk she leant, 
The black bough's vault of shade adorning,- 

A fixed, fair, living monument, 
Amid the light of morning: 

XXXII. 

Till silently stood up the man, 
And from the grave he stepped aside, 

And some faint speech in vain began 
When there the maid he spied. 

XXXIII. 

He too was young, and sad, and pale, 
Two mourning youthful hearts were they ; 

They had the same familiar tale, 
Man's tale of every day. 



And each upon the other gazed, 

With eyes from sorrow cold and slow ; 

They knew not why, but felt amazed 
That each was not alone in wo. 

xxxv. 
Few moments they together staid, 

And few the broken words they spake, 
And parted so, the man and maid, 

Their separate paths alone to take. 



PART III. 



I. 

The pair who thus that morning 1 met 
Ne'er mingled mutual speech before, 

And now could neither heart forget 
What then it seemed so soon was o'er. 

n. 

In secret thought each breast could say 
That one it knew of kindred mould, 

And through the long, long summer day 
That tale in fancy oft was told. 

Hi. 

For far unlike was Henry's mind 
To aught that Jane had seen before ; 

Though poor and lowly, yet refined 
With much of noblest lore. 

iv» 

A gentle widow's only child 
He grew beneath a loving rule; 

A man with spirit undefiled, 
He taught the village school. 



And many books had Henry read, 
And other tongues than ours he knew, 

His heart with many fancies fed, 
Which oft from hidden wells he drew. 



40 the sexton's daughter. 

VI. 

What souls heroic dared and bore 
In ancient days for love and duty, 

What sages could by thought explore,, 
What poets sang of beauty: 

VII. 

With these he dwelt, because within 
His breast was full of silent fire. 

No praise of men he cared to win, 
More high was his desire ; 

vm. 
To be, to know whate'er of Good 

To man below is given; 
And, asking Truth as daily food, 

Seek little more from Heaven. 

IX. 

To him the friend of all his days 
Had been his fervid mother, 

And ev'n the playmate of his plays — 
He never wished another. 



For he was weak and oft in pain ; 

From noisy sports he shrank away; 
But songs to sing, or tales to feign, 

For him made holiday. 

XI. 

And she had lived in cities wide, 
Had sailed across the fearful ocean, 

Could tell of wealth, and camps, and pride, 
And peopled earth's commotion. 



41 



xrr. 
And books had she a precious store, 

With words whose light was never dim; 
Five crowded shelves, like mines of ore, 

Like undiscovered realms for him. 

xm. 
Pure-souled and thoughtful he had been 

Who left this young and widowed bride; 
He left her while her leaves were green, 

But ah ! they withered when he died. 

XIV. 

So here she lived unmarked alone, 

Through quiet years remote from blame, 

With little that she called her own 
But him who bore his father's name. 

xv. 
Two hearts had she, the one so sad 

It often ached within her breast; 
But in her boy a heart she had 

Now thrilled with hope, now lulled to rest. 

xvr. 

x\nd tall he grew, though never strong, 

And beautiful at least to her; 
A soul he seemed attuned to song, 

With thoughts of endless inward stir. 

xvn. 
By love she taught him best to love, 

She gave him hope by trust in God; 
When pained below he looked above, 
Yet scorned no flower of nature's sod. 
3* 



42 the sexton's daughter. 

XVIII. 

And when to fill the ripening man 

In deeper flow Reflection came, 
When Dread and Wish their strife began, 

Awe, Passion, Doubt no longer tame; 

xix. 
Though small the help 'twas hers to give, — 

For deep not wide her best of lore, — 
" Still, still," she said, " by Conscience live, 

And Peace and Truth from Heaven implore. 

xx. 

" My son, for these to toil is good, 
For these to none who seek denied ; 

Alone thy soul must seek its food, 
No teacher at thy side." 

XXI. 

No teacher had he ; but a friend, 
The only friend in Henry's reach, 

The kindly Vicar, books would lend, 
And counsel, though unskilled to teach. 

xxn. 
And by his word was Henry made 

The master o'er the village boys ; 
A guide who still, by smiles and aid 

Allured them onto nobler joys. 

AMU. 

Thus Henry lived in meek repose. 

Though suffering oft the body's pain, 
Though sometimes aimless Thoughts and Woes 

Like wrestling giants racked the brain. 



43 



XXIV. 

But now an outward sorrow fell 
Down on his heart with heavier sway ; 

Through months of sickness long to tell 
His mother passed from earth away. 

xxv. 
His books, his thoughts, his boys were now 

A swarm of insects murmuring round. 
Afresh they stung his aching brow, 

And fevered him with weary so und. 

XXVI. 

And when the toilsome day was past, 
And darkness veiled his burning eyes, 

Upon the bed his limbs he cast, 
And wished he ne'er again might rise. 

XXVII. 

A flitting wish and soon recalled; 

But still there lived within his mind 
A shame for courage thus appalled, 

For faith so weak, and reason blind. 

XXVIII. 

He knew not if he slept or woke, 
'Twas all exhaustion's clouded gloom, 

When light like moonshine round him broke, 
And showed his mother's grassy tomb. 

XXIX. 

And o'er it floated, born in air, 
Her form serene in brightness clad, 

With glistening stars around the hair, 
And eyes of love no longer sad. 



44 the sexton's daughter, 

XXX. 

Her looks like summer lightning spread, 
And filled the boundless heavenly deep ; 

Devoutest peace around she shed, 
The calm without the trance of sleep 

XXXI. 

He knew not how, but soon was gone 
The phantom shape that blessed his eyes; 

The churchyard yew-tree, black and lone, 
Stood up against the starry skies. 

xxxn. 

Bewildered, yet consoled, he rose, 

And looked abroad; the east was breaking, 

It was the night's gray chilly close, 
The day's fresh golden waking. 

xxxin. 

He left the village, crossed the rill, 

While dawn's pale gleams had scarce begun ; 
He climbed the elm-be darkened hill, 

And in the churchyard faced the sun. 

xxxiv. 
Beneath a clear unruffled morn, , 

Beside the grave he knelt in prayer ; 
There breathed a voice to sooth and warn, 

And still Repose was whispering there . 

xxxv. 
And there he saw the gentle maid 

Whose earliest grief was like his own; 
To him it seemed his mother bade 

Their hearts should each to each be known. 



the sexton's daughter. 45 

XXXVI. 

Yet passed a week as if no more 

They could recall their mournful meeting ; 

And then, when seven long days were o'er, 
Again they spoke with timid greeting. 

xxxvn. 
Amid the noiseless crystal morn 

They stood below the nightly yew ; 
They dared not feel new hopes were born 

For both, and trembling pleasures new. 

xxxviir. 
Now neither sat beside the grave, 

They stood below the old yew-tree 
That with its sable shadows gave 

A home where grief might love to be. 

xxxix. 

They speak of these so lately gone, 
And words of sorrow dry their tears; 

And even when the tear flows on 
It each to each the more endears. 

XL. 

For grief like theirs, without remorse, 

Is yet a gentle hallowed feeling, 
And darkens not the limpid source 

Of joy, from love's deep fountain stealing, 

XLI. 

Thou breeze of dawn, a music blent 
With hues that are a song of light ! 

Thou sky whose dome, above them bent, 
Expands the cloudless God to sight! 



46 the sexton's daughter. 

XLII. 

Thou greenest world, through countless ages 
Adorned our bounteous home to be ! 

So fair beyond the dreams of sages, 
Which are but glimmerings caught from thee ! 

XLI1I. 

And Thou pervading Soul of All, 
In man's large mind most clearly shown, 

Receiving at devotion's call 
Whate'er of best thy Sire makes known! 

XLIV. 

Bear witness! ye consenting saw, 
And shed from all your seats above, 

A strength all evil fears to awe, 

In those two hearts kept pure by love. 

xlv. 
At morning oft, and oft at eve, 

They met below the old yew-tree, 
For they would not forget to grieve. 

Though blest as mortal souls may be. 

XL VI. 

'T were worth a thoughtful wish to see 

A loving pair so calm, so young, 
'Mid graves, beside the churchyard tree, 

While summer's light around them clung, 

XLVII. 

He seemed a more than common man, 
Whom children passed not heedless by, 

With graven brow of shapely span, 
And sudden-moving, pensiye eye. 



thb sexton's daughter. 47 

sxvn. 
Retired and staid was Henry's look, 

And shrank from men's tumultuous ways ; 
And on the earth, as orka book 

He oft would bend his gaze. 

XLIX. 

But then at sight of bird or flower, 
Or beam that set the clouds in flame, 

Or aught that told of joy or power, 
Upon the man his genius came. 

L. 
Most flashed his light when near him shone 

That face of youth, those eyes of blue, 
Whose looks re-echoing every tone, 

Paid heartfelt words with smiles as true. 

LI. 

His Jane was fair to any eye ; 

How more than earthly fair to him ! 
Her very beauty made you sigh 

To think that it should ere be dim. 

Ln. 

So childlike young, so gravely sweet, 

In maidenhood so meekly proud, 
With faith sincere and fancies fleet 

Still murmuring soft, ne'er clashing loud. 

LDI. 

It was, in truth, a simple soul 

That filled with day her great blue eyes s 
That made her all one gracious whole, 

Needing no charm of gaudy lies. 



48 the sexton's daughter, 

L1V. 

She had no art, and little skill 

In aught save Right, and maiden Feeling 
On Henry's wisdom leant her will, 

No ignorance from him concealing. 

LV. 

And so she freshened all his life, 
As does a sparkling mountain rill, 

That plays with scarce a show of strife 
Around its green aspiring hill. 



PART IV. 



I. 
With bold affection, pure and true, 

The lovers rose all fears above, 
And Faith and Conscience fed with dew 

The strong and flame-like flower of love. 

n. 

Sometimes amid the glimmering meads 
They walked in August's genial eve, 

And marked above the mill-stream reeds 
The myriad flies their mazes weave; 

ni. 

While under heaven's warm lucid hues 
They felt their eyes and bosoms glow, 

And learnt how fondly Fancy views 
Fair sights the moment ere they go ; 

rv. 
And then, while earth was darkening o'er, 

While stars began their tranquil day, 
Rejoiced that Nature gives us more 

Than all it ever takes away. 

v. 

In earliest autumn's fading woods 

Remote from eyes they roamed at morn, 

And saw how Time transmuting broods 
O'er all that into Time is born. 
4 



50 the sexton's daughter. 

VI. 

That power which men would fain forget, 
The law of change and slow decay, 

Came to them with a mild regret, 
A brightness veiled in softening gray. 

vn. 
While in this mood one day they sat 
Beside a lonely woodland spring, 
On moss that spread a living mat, 

The fountain's verdant fairy-ring — 
i 

vm. 

To Jane her lover slowly said, 

" The time, the scene, recall to me 

A story of a youth and maid 
In famons lands beyond the sea. 

IX. 

" In land of Greece in ancient days, 
A man, by many dreams possessed, 

Would wander oft from trodden ways, 
And rudest wilds he loved the best. 

x. 

" He strewed his thoughts along the gale, 
He gave his heart to earth and sky, 

To trees his life's fantastic tale 
Was known, but not to mortal eye. 

XL. 

"His soul devout, his shaping mind, 
Had power at last o'er mystic things, 

And could the silent charms unbind 
That chain the fountain's icy springs. 



THE SEXTON'S DAUGHTER. 51 

xn. 

" There shone a breezeless autumn morn 

When o'er the crystal cell arose 
A woman from the waters born, 

And fair as aught our fancy knows. 

xm. 
"He sought to make the maid his own, 

For earthly love a human bride ; 
Her voice had love's consenting tone, 

But still her words the suit denied, 

XIV. 

" One day of free delight was given 

In every month of changing skies, 
And 't was once more autumnal heaven 

That saw the Fountain Spirit rise. 

xv. 
" Again the youth his fay besought 

A mortal's lot with him to share, 
For converse all of airy thought 

Contents but souls ensphered in air; 

xvr. 

" And man will ask below the skies 
That breast may lean to beating breast, 

That mingling hands and answering eyes 
May halve the toil and glad the rest. 

XVII. 

" ' I too/ she said, and saying darkened, 
6 Must speak to thee of certain doom, 

To thee for whom my deeps have hearkened, 
And oft have felt unwonted gloom. 



52 the sexton's daughter. 

XVIII. 

" * For thee my heart, so calmly blest, 
Has throbbed with keener hopes and joys; 

My waves have sparkled unrepressed, 
And breathed for thee more vocal noise. 

XIX. 

" ' Too fond has been our mutual love 
To last beneath yon clouded sun; 

And fate, that sternly sits above, 
Decrees our bliss already done. 

xx. 

" ' At morn or eve thou must no more 
Return for commune sweet with me ; 

My gaze on mortal eyes is o'er, 
Because it may not feed on thee. 

XXI. 

" ' Thou must in other pathways roam, 
But sometimes think that once we met; 

I seek my lonely cavern home, 
There still to live, but not forget.' 

XXII. 

" The tinkling words were hardly said, 
When sank the fountain's mournful daughter; 

The youth, to grasp the form that fled, 
Sprang shrieking down the fatal water. 

xxm. 
" Dear Jane, 'tis but a graceful tale, 

To sooth and not oppress the mind; 
But now that autumn shakes the dale, 

I hear it moaned by every wind. 



the sexton's daughter. 53 

XXIV. 

" And in the autumn's look I trace, 
I know not why, a threatening stare, 

Nor e'en thy dear and rosy face 
Can disenchant the spell-bound air. 

XXV. 

" Yet well I know 'tis empty dream, 

And vainer still the legend's voice, 
For if too fond man's love may seem r 

'Tis but by erring in the choice. 

XXVI. 

" Begone, ye fears that round us wait, 
The soul's dim twilight hour possessing ! 

A Will beyond the Grecian Fate 

Has given us love's unstinted blessing." 

xxvn. 
Jane listened first with pensive gaze, 

Then dread disturbed her seeking glance, 
Though she but half could read the phrase 

That told the heathens land's romance. 

XXVIII. 

But clear she saw, and truly felt, 

That Henry was not well at ease ,• 
'Twas not a grief obscurely spelt > 

But plain as aught the spirit sees* 

XXIX. 

Her arms around his neck she threw, 

Against his cheek her head she laid, 

And he could feel the sigh she drew, 

Could feel the passion of the maid. 
4* 



54 the sexton's daughter* 

XXX. 

Then first upon her soul it broke 
That Time their lives might sever ; 

From joy's illusive trance she woke, 
And it was gone for ever : 

XXXI. 

As when a child first snaps the band 
That close to home has bound him; 

Or as the sailor dreams of land, 

And wakes with waves around him. 

XXXII. 

Long time she paused, and hid her face, 
Then raised her head in piteous sorrow, 

As doubting in his look to trace 
A hope for e'en to-morrow. 

XXXIII. 

She saw his cheek so wan and pale, 
She saw the dark expanded eye, 

And read the unimagined tale 
Of sure and near mortality. 

XXXIV. 

Her shuddering face she stooped in dread, 
And then once more was fain to look; 

Slow tears her eyes o'erladen shed 
On his thin hand, that feebly shook. 

xxxv. 
They spoke not ere they rose to go, 

And walked towards the far church-tower; 
Side pressed to side, they journeyed slow, 

While passed one voiceless, throbbing hour. 



the sexton's daughter. 55 

XXXVI. 

But when they reached the burial-ground, 
They turned and looked o'er hill and plain ; 

And starting- up from misery's swound, 
He faintly said to Jane — 

XXVII. 

" The autumn woods are fair to see, 

Its clouds with straggling sunshine burn; 

But lovelier will the springtime be, 

When warmth, and hope, and life return.'* 

XXXVIII. 

With long, sad smiles, of sorrow bred, 
The fate-struck lovers left each other, 

While both at heart more deeply bled 
Than even for a buried mother. 



PART V. 



I. 

Slow dragged along the unsmiling year,. 

With winds, and mist, and foliage torn ; 
And though, their green love grew not sere. 

They could not cease to mourn, 

ii. 

But still they strove to feed their hope, 
Though faint and worn away with fears, 

Though in their passion's ample scope 
Was room for many tears. 

in. 

To see the Sexton Henry came, 

And told how great a thing he sought; 

The father did not loudly blame, 
But sat in unrejoicing thought. 

IV. 

At last he spoke with lingering tongue : 
" My friend, I will not say you no, 

Though Jane is still but weak and young 
From her old father's side to go. 

v. 

" Indeed, 'twould be a wiser plan, 
If you could come and live with me; 

Though I am not a book-learned man, 
With her to help we might agree. 



the sexton's daughter. 57 

VI. 

" The house and fields are all my own, 
And will be his who weds with her, 

x^nd I grow old to work alone, 

And oft would rather rest than stir. 

vn. 

" And after me, 'tis plain to think, 

My son may be the sexton too ; 
But for your books, and pen, and ink, 

I know not what's the good they do. 

VIII. 

" All ! well, I see you hang your head; 

And where, my friend, 's the need of shame ? 
'Tis not too late to change your trade, 

And then — why, Jane may change her name. 

IX. 

" To-morrow evening come again; 

Till then, at least, I'll not refuse ; 
I would not cross the wish of Jane, 

Though she, I fear, is young to choose." 

x. 

Before that eve, it so befell 

The lovers met beside the tree, 
i\nd Henry said — " 'Twere vain to tell 

That I would give all else for thee. 

XI. 

"But, Jane, although I should desire 
My thoughts and aims in sleep were laid,, 

My limbs the needful strength require 
To ply a labourer's busy spade. 



58 the sexton's daughter. 

xn. 
" Oh ! well'' she said, " I know it all ! 

My father's wish can never be. 
Oh ! could we but the past recall, 

So you again were calm and free ! 

XIII. 

"Yet, Henry, still our love is sweet, 
The best of life I e'er have known, 

And if again we never meet, 
I oft shall think it o'er alone. 

XIV. 

" These leaves now fallen were bright and green 
The day that first I heard you speak; 

How many hours have past between, 

Strengthening rny heart, though still 'tis weak ! 

xv. 

" I seem to look with larger eyes, 
What once I dreamt not now is true, 

More lovely sights around me rise, 
And all seem gifts bestowed by you. 

xvr. 
" But yet it must not be, I know ; 

Whate'er the unpausing moment's choice* 
Great hopes within your bosom grow 

That never yet have found a voice. 

xvir, 
" And in the body's daily task, 

While cares on cares for ever crowd, 
Regrets will wake, and move, and ask, 

And speak the more, not speaking loud. 



the sexton's daughter. 59 

XVIII. 

k * And you will muse, from day to day, 
Of all you might have been and done ; 

Of wisdom widening men's highway, 
Of goodness warming like the sun. 

XIX. 

" And you for want of those will pine, 
Who might reflect your fancy's hues; 

Perhaps will think the fault is mine 
Of all the nobler life you lose." 



Half-turned the maid, as if to part, 

Affrighted by the imagined pain, 
But Henry pressed her on his heart, 

And kissed her eyes, and spoke again : 

XXI. 

" Though this were sure that sounds so strange, 

Yet need we not at once decide ; 
Perhaps your father's mind may change, 

And hopes be ours now undescried. 

XXII. 

" Your love is not forbidden yet ; 

It shames not you, it blesses me. 
The past we can never forget, 

And happier may the future be." 

xxin. 
The evening came, and trembling stood 

The lover at the father's door, 
And found within the maid he wooed, 

And that old man so bent and hoar. 



60 the sexton's daughter. 

XXIV. 

Their trimmest garb had each put on, 
Around was neatness, comfort, cheer; 

The clouds appeared to distance gone, 
And Jane's bright face bespoke not fear. 

xxv. 
She sat upon her mother's chair, 

And poured the drink that Henry loved; 
Her tea with him 'twas joy to share, 

And sit beside him unreproved. 

XXVI. 

And close beside the blazing fire 
Was placed the old man's easy seat; 

The flames, now low, then shooting higher, 
Cast o'er him glimpses bright and fleet. 

xxvu. 
They showed a face more soft than bold, 

Though keen the look of settled will; 
With lines that many winters told, 

But little change of good and ill. 

XXVIII. 

And thus the untroubled, aged man, 
His long-experienced lesson spake, 

In words that painfully began, 
While slow his pondering seemed to wake : 

XXIX. 

" Perhaps you think, dear daughter Jane, 
My wishes neither kind nor wise. 

Because I keep a sober brain, 
And look about with wistful eyes. 



THE SEXTON'S DAUGHTER. 61 

XXX. 

M Yet surely I have lived and wrought 
More years than you, or he you love ; 

And it must he a foolish thought 
Of yours that I cannot approve. 

XXXI. 

" I know not who can better learn 

Than one who lives so long as I, 
Who all life long have tried to earn 

And still have set my earnings by. 

xxxrr. 
" And I have seen a many score 

Of men and women laid in earth; 
I mostly, too, can tell them o'er, 

And all their prosperings, up from birth. 

xxxm. 
" And always I have seen with all 

That thriftiest heads are honoured most; 
And those who into misery fall, 

By them respect is quickly lost. 

XXXIV. 

" A man who gains and keeps together, 

Is like the tree that yearly grows, 
That, stout and strong in wintry weather, 

A goodly crop in summer shows : 

XXXV. 

" But he who spends and wastes away, 

Is like a tree decayed within: 
Though still the leaves and bloom be gay, 

Its top will soon be shrunk and thin. 
5 



62 the sexton's daughter. 

XXXVI. 

" Or see the gleaner winnowing grain, 

The empty chaff goes flying; 
The plump, full, yellow seeds remain, 

Like gold for profit lying. 

XXXVII. 

" The chaff may glitter in the sun, 

And dance before the wind, 
But I would rather look upon 

The quiet heap behind. 

XXXVIII. 

" What some within an hour would spend, 
The wise man takes a day to win; 

But when the waste has reached an end 
The gains of thrift are coming in. 

XXXIX. 

" And ever I have seen that they 
Who least had cause to fear the morrow> 

Have cheeriest walked the open way, 
Nor hun^ their heads in sorrow. 



■*& 



XL. 

" Who does not feel how hard the thought 
For one whose life must soon be o'er, 

That all his days have added nought, 
But still made less men's little store ? 

XLI. 

" And therefore, Jane, I think it right 
That you should choose a gainful man, 

One working hard from morn till night, 
Gathering and hoarding all he can. 



the sexton's daughter. 63 

xlii. 
u Yet, mind you well, I do not say 

But Henry may your husband be ; 
Though much I doubt if learning's pay 

Would keep such house as pleases me. 

XLIII. 

* 4 His health, by study much abused, 
Seems now, if well I mark, to pine ; 

And then he has been always used 
To nurture delicate and fine. 

xliv. 
" His mother's stipend ceased with her, 

And he, I know, must needs be poor; 
And so methinks it better were 

That you and he should love no more. 

XLV. 

" But stay till winter days be past, 
And when the spring returns again, 

If still I find your liking last, 

Why then — nay, come, and kiss me, Jane." 

XL VI. 

Thus wandered round his maze of speech 

The long-experienced man; 
Determined both the twain to teach, 

Through all his saws he ran. 

XLVII. 

With eyes upon the table bent, 

The maiden stooped her glowing face; 

But Henry gazed with look intent, 
The father's inmost thought to trace. 



64 the sexton's daughter. 

XLVIII. 

And when of sinking health he spoke, 
The lover's brow was flushed with red,. 

While Jane turned white beneath the stroke,. 
With anguish more than dread. 

XLIX. 

But when the closing promise came, 
They both \yere lifted up and cheered;. 

For, freed from strife, remorse, and blame, 
The old man's eye no more they feared. 



PART VI. 



I. 

November days are dull and dark, 

And well they teach the heart to ponder, 

Which sometimes needs must pause to mark 
How fades from earth its garb of wonder. 

n. 

We breathe at whiles so charmed an air, 
By sound each leaf's light fall we learn, 

No breeze disturbs the spider's snare, 
That hangs with dew the stately fern. 

in. 

Soon heaves within the boundless frame 

A strong and sullen gust of life, 
And rolling waves and woods proclaim 

The untuned world's increasing strife. 

rv. 

'Mid boom, and clang, and stormy swell, 
And shadows dashed by blast and rain. 

Leaves heaped, whirled, routed, sweep the dell, 
And glimpses course the leaden main. 

v. 

And yet, though inward drawn and still, 
There beats a hidden heart of joy; 

Beneath the old year's mantle chill 

Sleeps, mute and numb, the unconscious boy. 

5* 



66 



VI. 

And they who muse and hope may guess 
With faith assured the future spring; 

But him who loves all hours will bless, 
All months to him of May-time sing. 

VII. 

" At least Pve known," young Henry said, 
" How dark soe'er new days may prove, 

Love's inspiration shared and fed 
By her I love." 

VIII. 

With lifted brow, and buoyant heart, 

He now fulfilled. his daily toil r< 
And e'en 'mid weary tasks would start 

Bright. springs from desert soil. 

IX. 

He stood, with zeal the untaught to teach,, 
'Mid fifty faces young and rude, 

And turned a cheerful front to each,, 
That brightened them and yet subdued.. 

x. 

He strove that clear they might discern, 
What aims to man true value give, 

And said — " You do not live to learn,. 
But learn that you may better live." 

xr. 

The boy who came with sun-bleached head, 
And dress by many patch repaired, 

Still felt in all that Henry said 
E'en more than strongest words declared. 



67 



xrr. 
Those truths, as more that lessons taught, 

Were learnt as more than lessons too ; 
The teacher's precept, will, and thought,- 

E'en from his look fresh import drew. 

XIII. 

And well he knew how wilful sway 
Disloyal service breeds at best, 

And often makes the heart a prey 
To hate, by fear alone repressed; 

xrv. 

Yet could he temper love and meekness 
With all the sacred might of law, 

Dissevering gentleness from weakness, 
And hallo wing tenderness by awe, 

xv. 

Nor e'er beneath his steadfast eye 
Could ill escape its grave reproval ; 

Nor durst he set his conscience by, 
That peace might reign by its removal 

XVI. 

His love was no unblest device 

To lengthen falsehood's coward, mood,. 

Nor purchased liking at the price 
Of calling evil — good. 

xvn. 
He woke the sense, he warmed the breast, 

Affirming truths supreme,, 
And let the voice within attest 

He told no misty dream. 



68 



XVIII. 

Each feeling thus that moved the child, 

As each in turn awoke, 
To its fixed law was reconciled, 

And owned the strengthening yoke. 

XIX. 

So still the God revealed below 
As one great Will of God to all, 

He taught for Sire and Judge to know, 
On whom for aid all groans may call. 

xx. 

Amid his poor, unknowing throng 
Of little learners pleased he stood; 

To him their murmur hummed a song, 
And every face had sparks of good. 

xxi. 
Adid when the exhausted aching frame 

Would fain have dropped in seas of sleep, 
He thought how high the teacher's aim, 

How dread the watch 'twas his to keep. 

XXII. 

So have I seen upon a hill 

A fair green tree of milk-white flowers, 
Where bees sucked out their honeyed fill 

Through all the long day's basking hours: 

xxm. 
To its green cells and vases white, 

That yield an odorous air, 
The swarm with musical delight 

For their sweet gold repair. 



THE SEXTOX ? S DAUGHTER. 
XXIV. 

But dark decay may mine the tree. 

Or liglztning-bolt may blast, 
And not a flower for wind or bee 

Delight the saddening waste. 

XXV. 

The winter pressed with gloom and chill 
Round Henry's wavering thread of life, 

And though the eye shone boldly still, 
The cheek grew thin amid the strife. 

XXVI. 

And while at solitary night 

His candle showed some ancient page, 
And like a deft familiar sprite 

Evoked for him the buried sage ; 

XXVK. 

While from the distant snow-clad wold 
The clown, belated, marked the beam, 

Nor guessed of what the glimmering told^ 
What human task, or goblin dream, — 

xxvm. 
The lonely student oft would shrink, 

And startling,, clasp his painful breast, 
With long-drawn sigh of Jane would think, 

And seek at last reluctant rest. 

XXIX. 

Yet once again did Jane and he 

By Simon's hearth at evening meet, 

And once beneath his bare ash-tree 
They filled at dawn their grassy seat. 



70 the sexton's daughter. 

XXX 

'Twas then a cold and misty morn, 

The churchyard seemed a cave of death ; 

They saw the yew, by cold unshorn, 

Stand hearse-like black in winter's breath* 

XXXI. 

And e'en while now the lovers spoke 
They felt the fog between them rise ; 

Round each it spread a dull grey cloak, 
And masked them each in vague disguise. 

XXXII. 

At parting Henry said — "Farewell; 

On fSunday morn we meet again; 
When first rings out the old church-bell, 

With merry chant, expect me then." 

XXXIII 

At last, though slow, that Sunday came, 

And Jane put on her best array, 
And still her colour fled and came 

As if it were her wedding-day. 

xxxiv. 
Her father went to ring the bell, 

And she to watch the doorway sprang, 
And on the latch her finger fell, 

And paused, and paused — the church-bell rang. 

xxxv. 
No step was there: it seemed a knell 

Whose notes ner father's hand was ringing; 
She oped the door for breath, the bell 

So heavily went swinging. 



THE SEXTON'S DAUGHTER. 71 

XXXVI. 

She knew that Henry was not there, 
And yet she looked below the tree : 

There stood nor shape of misty air, 
Nor sunbright face in sunshine free. 

xxxvn. 

She looked the winding road along, 

Now hid no more with leafy green, 
But 'mid its loitering speckled throng 

For her no living shape was seen. 

XXXVIII. 

She turned, and passed the dim church-door, 

Beneath an ancient arch's frown, 
And in the aisle upon the floor 

She knelt not, but her knees fell down. 

XXXIX. 

Upon the seat she stooped her face, 
But still she heard that doleful bell, 

And though she prayed for Heaven's dear grace 
'Twas still the same pursuing knell. 

XL. 

And when the people stood to sing, 
Though now the weary bell was o'er, 

She heard it through her bosom ring, 
As if 'twould ring for evermore. 

XLI. 

She could not rise upon her feet, 

She could not stand when others stood, 

And all the words she could repeatv 

Were still— " To me, O God ! be good!" 



72 the sexton's DAUGHTER. 

XLII. 

At last the service all was done, 

And she might go from church away, 

But still she could not be alone, 
She must beside her father stay. 

XLIII. 

His mid-day meal she must prepare 

Before the second service-bell; 
Aid she must sit beside him there, 

And by constraint be welL 

XLIV. 

Once more they reached their home again; 

The winter day had changed to night; 
He dozed beside the fire, and Jane 

At last was free from busy light 

XLV 

She left his frugal supper laid, 

She heard him breathe with slumbrous tone; 
And then, released, the trembling maid 

Dared slip away alone. 



PART VII. 



I. 

Upon the maiden's weary soul 

The silent darkness dawned like day, 

While free amid the boundless Whole, 
Alone with God, she took her way. 

n. 

And yet a thrill of shame and fear 
In her with love and anguish met; 

She longed that Earth would cease to hear, 
And Heaven one hour its gaze forget. 

ni. 
But Henry more than all was dear; 

On her he seemed to call for aid, 
And she through wave and gale would steer, 

To track the wandering, mourning shade. 

IV. 

Along the churchyard path she went, 

And saw above the yew, 
The low discoloured firmament, 

While cold winds round her blew. 



But swift along the rode she sped 

With still increasing pace, 
And walked where blackest darkness led, 

The more to hide her face. 



74 



VI. 

And now to Henry's home she came, 
Where never she had been before; 

She could not now remember shame, 
But knocked upon the door. 

VII. 

An aged woman, dull and slow, 

Came creeping at the sound, 
Nor asked the comer's name to know, 

But straight the key turned round. 

vni. 
Jane hurried in, and at the first, 

These words unpausing said — 
" O ! tell me, tell me all the worst, 

Tell me, is Henry dead?" 

IX. 

She marked the woman's wrinkled cheek, 
And saw 'twas swollen with weeping, 

Before she heard her answering speak, 
' • He is alive, and sleeping. 

x. 
" 'Tis now the second day that he 

Has been too weak to rise from bed, 
And truly, as it seems to me, 

He never more will lift his head. 

XI. 

" I've loved him ever since a child, 
And tended him from day to day; 

I sometimes think 'twould drive me wild 
If I should see him pass away." 



the sexton's daughter. 75 

xn. 

Then Jane exclaimed, — " What noise is there ? 

I here a tapping faint and low.* 1 
The other hastened up the stair, 

And Jane with her would go. 

xni. 
And she was there when Henry said — 

" I heard below a well-known voice ; 
Or was my he ait by dreams betrayed, 

That made me suddenly rejoice ?" 

XTV. 

His words were weak, and drawn with pain, 
His face looked flushed with burning red; 

She would no more her love restrain, 
But swiftly knelt beside the bed. 

xv. 

Her arms around his neck she threw, 

She gave his lips a quivering kiss, 
And heart to heart tumultuous flew, 

For naught was left them now but this. 

XVI. 

Few moments passed in hurried grief, 

And then her face away she drew, 
And gazing, sought to find relief 

In looks where misery met her view. 

xvn. 
He strove to smile with happier eyes, 

But could not long the toil sustain; 
From his deep glance the meaning flies, 

The lids drop down — he longs in vain. 



76 THE sexton's daughter, 

XVIII. 

On her young heart his withered hand 
She laid, and pressed it strongly there, 

As if her life she could command, 
And bid it pass to him from her. 

XIX. 

He slept. The maiden whispered low, 
" I pray you try to find me, dame, 

A friend who to the church would go, 
And say why here to-night I came." 

xx. 

The woman went, and Jane remained 
With all she e'er had loved the best,.. 

His hand upon her bosom strained, 
Her lace by his,, but not in rest* 

XXI. 

In her large eyes the unthought-of tears, 
Gathered fully, gathered slowly, 

And o'erflowed their azure spheres, 
Drops of pain, but pure and holy. 

XXII. 

The lingering minutes, measured out 
By that sad rain, drew on and on, 

Till Henry feebly turned about, 

And raised his eyes and heaved a groan. 

xxm. 
" Dear Jane," he said, " my only love L 

I feel I have not long to stay; 
'Tis good, almost my hopes above, 

That you are not away. 



77 



XXIV. 

" 'Tis not that I have much to tell 
Before my lips their breath resign ; 

But, oh ! 'tis peace, 'tis more than well, 
While thus my hand is clasped in thine. 

XXV. 

" For here upon my bed of death 
Is with me all that earth can give ; 

Thus God supports the fearless faith 
Which cannot cease to live, 

XXVI. 

" My mother, and that humble friend, 
The boys that were my flock, and thou, 

To none beside my thoughts extend, 
Save Him whose heaven is near me now. 

xxvn. 
" My boys again I fain would see, 

And speak what last inspires my soul; 
— That men who would be truly free, 

Must win their aim by self-control. 

xxvin. 
" That Reverence is the bond for man 

With all of Best his eyes discern; 
Love teaches more than Doctrine can, 

And no pure Hope will vainly yearn* 

XXIX* 

'• That Conscience holds supernal power 
To rend or heal the human breast; 

And that in guilt's most dismal hour 
God still may turn its war to rest. 
6* 



78- 



XXX. 

" Through all on earth that lives and dies 
Still shines that sole eternal star, 

And while to its great beams I rise, 
They seem to make me all they are. 

XXXI. 

" But all from depths of mystery grows, 
Which hide from us the root of things ; 

And good beyond what Science knows 
To man his faith's high Reason brings. 

XXXII. 

" To thee, to all, my sinking voice, 

Beloved! would fain once more proclaim, 

In Christ alone may those rejoice, 
Deceived by every other name* 

xxxm. 
" In all but Him our sins have been, 

And wanderings dark of doubtful mind; 
In Him alone on earth is seen 
God's perfect Will for all mankind. 

XXXIV. 

" The shadows round me close and press, 

But still that radiant orb I see, 
And more I seem its light to bless 

Than aught near worlds could give to me. 

xxxv. 

" As light and warmth to noontide hours, 
To sweetest voices tuneful songs, 

And as to summer fields the flowers, 
So heaven to heavenly souls belongs.*' 



the sexton's daughter. 79 

XXXVI. 

His upward look drew light and peace 
From some unclouded source above; 

The tears of Jane had learnt to cease, 
And she was hushed in fearless love. 

XXXVII. 

But, sighing slow, he turned from heaven? 

To gaze at her, his lamp on earth, 
With thoughts that need not be forgiven, 

For they, too, claimed a sinless birth. 

XXX VIII. 

" My more than dear, my wife" — he said — 

" I leave a toilsome lot to thee ; 
To bear, a widow, though unwed, 

The lonely memory of me. 

XXXIX. 

" So young, so beautiful as thou y 

To feel thou art on earth alone, 
That none can be, as I am now, 

Thy first whole hope, and all thy own;: 

XL. 

" With few or none beside the heart 
To cheer, uphold, and comprehend ; 

With thoughts at which the crowd would start, 
And grief which they would vainly tend. 

XLI. 

" Still hope ! still act ! Be sure that life, 
The source and strength of every good, 

Wastes down in feeling's empty strife, 
And dies in dreaming' s sickly mood. 



80 the sexton's daughter, 

XLII. 

" To toil in tasks, however mean, 
For all we know of right and true — 

In this alone our worth is seen ; 
'Tis this we were ordained to do. 

XL1II. 

" So shalt thou find in work and thought 
The peace that sorrow cannot give; 

Though griefs worst pangs to thee be taught, 
By thee let others noblier live. 

XLIV. 

iC Oh ! wail not in the darksome forest, 
Where thou must needs be left alone, 

But, e'en when memory is sorest, 
Seek out a path, and journey on. 

XLV. 

" Thou wilt have angels near above, 

By whom invisible aid is given ; 
They journey still on tasks of love, 

And never rest except in heaven. 

XL vr. 
" The God who gave in me a friend, 

Is more than any friend to all ; 
Upon my grave before him bend, 

And He will hear thy lonely call. 

xLvn. 
" One kiss, my Jane — I now must rest." 

His eyes grew faint, his eyelids closed, 
And when her lips to his were pressed, 

His lips in death reposed. 



PART VIII. 



I. 
"Oh! father, father, list to me; 

The tale that I shall tell, 
It must no more my burthen be, 

And, father, heed me well. 

n. 

" Last night upon my bed I lay, 
And prayed that I might sleep, 

But still my wakeful thoughts would stay, 
And still I could not weep. 

in. 

" The moonshine filled my room with light, 

A stream of silver air, 
And all the window-panes were bright, 

And showed the stars so fair. 

IV. 

" I lay and looked, when lo ! a hand, 

A giant hand outspread; 
Methought the moonlight skies it spanned, 

And darkened o'er my bed. 

v. 

" This hand of giant size, I say, 

It beckoned me to rise, 
I saw its shadow where I lay, 

I felt it o'er my eyes. 



82 the sexton's daughter. 

VI. 

" I rose and went, I passed the door, 

And, father ! I beheld, 
Where stood the old yew-tree before, 

A form that heavenward swelled. 

VII. 

" It seemed a dark gigantic man, 

Who sat upon a mound; 
His face not well my eye could scan, 

For darkness wrapped it round. 

VIII. 

" Oh ! taller far than spire or trees, 
That form above me bowed ; 

A mantle falling o'er his knees 
Concealed him all in cloud. 

IX. 

" I knew 'twas not an earthly thing 

That there before me rose ; 
Some nameless ghost-land's ghostly king, 

Whose look my life-blood froze. 

x. 

" And when he fixed his gaze on me 

I turned my eyes away, 
And there before his foot could see 

A grave that open lay. 

XI. 

•" I could not choose but enter there; 

And passing down the new-made cell, 
I left the clear and moonlight air, 

Where dark his shadow fell. 



the sexton's daughter* 63 

XII. 

" With easy slope the passage dived, 

And on I travelled far and slow, 
Till through the vault my steps arrived 

Where light from heaven appealed to flow. 

XIII. 

44 I saw a valley broad and green, 

Where trees and rocks were scattered round, 
And hills of ancient wood were seen 

Encircling all the quiet ground. 

xiv. 
" Old trees and vast, with caves of shade, 

Bright waters foaming down the steep, 
Green hues that dappled all the glade, 

Gray rocks that lay in awful sleep. 

xv. 

*' And over all a sky was spread 

Of woodland violet's deepest glow, 
While amber pale and ruby red 

Hung o'er the winding hills below. 

XVI. 

*' And 'mid this sky without a moon 
Great beaming stars of golden blaze, 

Like flaming garlands thickly strewn, 
Filled all the world with whispering rays. 

XVII. 

" Then o'er my head a sound I knew 

Of many swift and gentle wings ; 
Sweet airy music o'er me flew, 

And seemed to wheel in blended rings. 



84 



xviii. 
*' And sooner then than eye could see 

With life the earth and skies o'erflowed, 
And grass and rock, and hill^nd tree, 

Ten thousand radiant beings showed. 

XIX. 

" 'Twas Angels all, a dazzling throng, 
With wings of rose and golden down, 

With hair of sunbeams pale and long, 
To each bright face a streaming crown. 

xx 
" They floated o'er the trees and rocks, 

They sat o'er all the grassy dell, 
They hid the hills in glancing flocks, 

And seemed amid the stars to dwell. 

xxr. 
"And One to me, the nearest there, 

Upon a brown and craggy steep, 
Raised up toward heaven a face so fair, 

With inmost joy I longed to weep. 

xxn. 
" He held a branch of darkest yew 

That dropped with glittering tears of rain, 
And loud he sang a song that drew 

All things around beneath the strain. 

xxin. 
" He sang of love, and death, and life, 

And worlds and hearts, the homes of these ; 
Of peace attuning every strife, 

Of grief whose pang the spirit frees; 



the sexton's daughter. 85 

XXIV. 

11 Of all that is, and journeys on 

From worst of ill to best of good; 
For not a moment e'er is gone 

But in the next survives renewed. 

xxv. 
"And while he sang, the earth and skies, 

And all those countless forms around, 
More softly gleamed with shifting dyes, 

And flushing drank the blissful sound. 

xxvr. 
u The trees were piles of trembling flame, 

The rocks like diamonds heaped the sod, 
Each star a living eye became, 

And all, methought, were eyes of God. 

xxvn. 
" The stream that shimmered down the hill 

In waves of clearest crimson ran; 
And that sweet singer, brightening still, 

Grew lovelier far than man. 

xxvm. 
" His words upon the glowing stream 

Sank melting down, and borne along 
Upon the mingled floods of dream 

All floated in accord to song. 

XXIX. 

" The world was changed around me all, 
To arches rock and tree were grown ; 

I stood amid a pillared hall, 
Beneath a roof of carven stone. 
7 



86 the sexton's daughtek. 

XXX. 

" The windows beamed with many a hue 

Of living forms in smooth array; 
Again those Angel hosts I knew, 

And through them shot the light of day. 

XXXI. 

" They twinkling shone with radiance keen, 
With eyes whose brightness dazzled mine; 

And thousands round the walls were seen, 
With hands upraised in prayer divine. 

XXXII. 

" Before me, 'mid a depth of gloom, 
I marked one high enormous shade, 

And him I knew, compelled by whom 
His giant hand I first obeyed. 

xxxin. 
" Like some great dusky crag he towered, 

In cloudy folds involved and dim; 
As midnight's darkest heaven he lowered, 

The world's whole strength reposed in him* 

xxxiv. 
" But, oh ! a form before him lay, 

And watch o'er this he seemed to keep ; 
'Twas Henry's form in twilight gray, 

That corpse-like slept an icy sleep. 

xxxv. 
" And when that frozen face I saw, 

So calm, so chill, without a breath, 
I knew the Giant Shadow's Law, 

And owned the king was Death. 



87 



XXXVI. 

"The dread lips moved; a voice there came, 

Like midnight wind in trees ; 
All shook around, as waves a flame 

Beneath a gusty breeze. 

XXXVII. 

" 'I claim my own/ the shadow said; 

1 If any answers, No ! 
His life must ransom this, my dead, 

Who thus shall 'scape from wo/ 

XXXVIII. 

" O'er all those Angel faces fell 

A sad and helpless gloom; 
The building seemed a mouldering cell, 

A dark eternal tomb. 

XXXIX. 

" Then loud I spake, with swelling voice, — 

' To him thy respite give, 
And hear, O ! Spirit, hear my choice 

To die that he may live. * 

XL. 

u Before the lowly bier I knelt, 

And kissed the lips and eyes, 
And o'er the face a warmth I felt, 

And saw new life arise. 

xli. 
" There dawned again my Henry's look, 

And feebly met my view; 
With sighs and throbs my bosom shook, 

His eyes my presence knew. 



88 the sexton's daughter. 

XLH. 

" Above him poured a blaze of light, 
And, looking whence it flowed, 

The boundless form was dazzling bright, 
The darkness round him glowed. 

XLUI. 

"Like Gad he sat, serene and mild, 

In snowy whiteness clad : 
His face with sunlike glory smiled^ 

And made all beings glad, 

XLIV. 

"No roof was there; the stars of heaven 
Were shining round his head, 

And o'er his brow a Crown of Seven 
Their wondrous lustre shed. 

XLV. 

" In circling lines the Angel race, 
A world of lights, rose high; 

And joy shone bright in every face, 
And love in every eye. 

XLVI. 

" But Angels' looks were nought to me, 

Who saw beside me clear 
My Henry's eyes, that now could see, 

Nor taught me more to fear. 

XLVII. 

" No voice of God or Angel spoke, 

And I was Henry's own; 
But when upon my bed I woke„ 

I found myself alone. 



the sexton's daughter. 89 

XLVIII. 

" But still I saw his fondest gaze, 

Who bade affright be dumb ; 
And, filled with peacefulest amaze, 

I knew my end was come." 



7* 



PART IX. 



Upon the spring-clad fields and woods, 

The churchyard graves and tall church-tower, 

The warm, pure daylight softly broods, 
And fills with life the morning hour. 

The vast sepulchral yew-tree waves, 
And feels the sunshine cheer the shade, 

And e'en the low and grassy graves 
Appear in living slumber laid. 

nr. 

The only sad and helpless thing, 

That May-day makes not less forlorn, 

Is that old man, to whom the spring 
Is dead, and dead the breezy morn. 

IV. 

These live not now, for all is dead 
With her that lies below the sod; 

His daughter from his life is fled, 
And leaves but dust by spectres trod. 

v. 

The smooth, sweet air is blowing round, 

It is a Spirit of hope to all; 
It whispers o'er the wakening ground, 

And countless daisies hear the call; 



THE SEXTON'S DAUGHTER. 91 

VI. 

It mounts and sings away to heaven, 
And 'mid each light and lovely cloud ; 

To it the lark's loud joys are given, 
And young leaves answer it aloud. 

vn. 

It skims above the flat green meadow, 
And darkening sweeps the shiny stream;: 

Along the hill it drives the shadow, 
And sports and warms in the skiey beam. 

vrn. 
But round that hoar and haggard man 

It cannot shed a glimpse of gladness; 
He wastes beneath a separate ban, 

An exile to a world of sadness. 

IX. 

Upon a bench before his door 

He sits, with weak and staring eyes, 

He sits and looks, for straight before 
The grave that holds his daughter lies. 



If any come with him to speak, 

In dull harsh words he bids them go ; 

For this strong earth he seems too weak, 
For breathing life too cramped and slow. 

XI. 

A gnawing rage, an aimless heat, 
Have scored and set his grating face ; 

His eyes like ghosts the gazer greet, 
The guards of misery's dwelling-place ; 



£2 



XII. 

A sun-dial pillar left alone, 

On which no dial meets the eye; 

A black mill-wheel with grass o'er-grown, 
That hears no water trickle by; 

XIII. 

Dark palsied mass of severed rock, 
Deaf, blind, and sere to sun and rain; 

A shattered gravestone's time-worn block 
That only shows the name of — Jane. 

XIV. 

*Tis thus he sits from hour to hour, 
Amid the breeze beneath the sky; 

And still, when beats the noisy shower, 
The cottage doorway keeps him dry. 

xv. 
With open door he shelters there, 

A pace behind his outward seat ; 
And, fixed upon his old arm-chair, 

Looks through the rain from his retreat, 

XVI. 

Upon his daughter's grave he stares, 
As if her form he thought would rise, 

For all to him the semblance wears 
Of mist that has his daughter's eyes. 

XVII. 

He heeds not passing beast nor men, 
Nor wain at hand, nor distant plough; 

Not e'en a burial draws his ken — 
He is no longer Sexton now. 



the sexton's daughter. 93 

xvin. 
But while, like some gray stump, he sits, 

Dried up at root, and shorn of all, 
Still Nature round him works and flits, 

And fills and lights her festival. 

XIX. 

And e'en around his daughter's grave, 
Where Life for him in Death is cold, 

Fair growth goes on, the grasses wave, 
And shooting flies their revels hold. 



And, lo ! at last the old man's gaze 
Is brightened with a gleam of sense, 

A butterfly all yellow plays 

Above the grave, nor wanders thence. 

XXI. 

And see, below the flutterer's dance, 
From earth a streak of colour springing; 

It is the primrose leaves that glance, 

To him his daughter's presence bringing. 

XXII. 

To her 'twas May's most precious flower, 
That well she loved, and tended oft; 

Its pale stars filled her hawthorn bower 
With clustering fancies mild and soft. 

xxm. 
She strewed it o'er her mother's grave, 

Its grace with Henry loved to note ; 
To Simon oft the flower she gave, 

And fixed it in his Sunday coat. 



94 the sexton's daughter. 

XXIV. 

And now, with gradual change of heart, 

He saw it peep above the sod 
Where she was laid: it seemed to start 

A special sign for him from God. 

xxv. 
An hour he sat, and marked it well, 

Then rose and would behold it near; 
His face no more was hard and fell, 

No more the man was numbed and drear. 

xx vr. 
Another hour upon his staff 

He leant, and pored above the grave ; 
He gave at length a silent laugh, 

And seemed to grasp some purpose brave. 

xxvn. 
Then eager toward his house he went, 

And took his old and idle spade, 
And round his fields with fixed intent 

He walked, and many pauses made ; 

XXVIII. 

And when below the hedge row shade, 

A little tuft of primrose grew, 
He dug it with his church-yard spade, 

As if 'twere gold that thence he drew. 

XXIX. 

And so with sods of yellow flowers 
He filled his basket full and gay, 

And back in evening's quiet hours 
Towards the church he took his way. 



the sexton's daughter. 05 



Beside the grave of Jane he stood, 
And round it smoothly dug the ground ; 

With clods as many as he could, 
He made a primrose border round. 

XXXI. 

His work was done, and brightly sank 
The day's last light upon his head ; 

The flowers that kindred beauty drank, 
And all was peace around the dead. 

XXXII. 

And while by day the man had wrought, 
And while by night awake he lay, 

He felt within a flow of thought 
Serene, that led him still to pray. 

XXXIII. 

Before him now his daughter came 

In all her truth, as if alive ; 
Now child, now woman, still the same, 

And made his purest heart revive. 

xxxiv. 
He thought how after Henry died 

She strove and toiled with earnest will, 
To each small task her heart applied, 

Though Death within was strengthening still : 

xxxv. 
How week on week, 'mid humble calm, 

And zealous heed that would not sleep, 
She found her suffering's holiest balm 

In suffering's lowest silent deep. 



96 the sexton's daughter. 

XXXVI. 

And so she wore away. The night 
In which she went to Henry's home 

Had seized her all with chilly blight, 
And warmth again would never come. 

XXXVII. 

She laid her down, but not to rest, 
For feverish dreams besieged her bed; 

And, with too many thoughts oppressed, 
It seemed that thought itself was fled. 

xxxvni. 
But now with steadfast voice and eye 

She met her father's wandering gaze, 
And told of visions bright and high — 

Strange visions told in darkling phrase. 

XXXIX* 

Then swift she sank ; she could not speak, 
But lay a pale, unmoving clod, 

At last she said, with utterance weak, 
" Remembering me, remember God ! ** 

XL. 

The thought of this, of her, of all 
That she to him had been before, 

Began within his heart to call, 
And open wide its inmost door. 

XLI. 

Though seventy winters gathering still 
Had choked with ice some sacred cells, 

He felt within him now a thrill 
That thawed the solid icicles. 



97 



lxh. 
From morning's burst to soothing eve 

He loitered near the hallowed spot; 
And though he never ceased to grieve, 

The pangs of grief he now forgot. 

XLin. 
He tended still the primrose flowers, 

He decked with them his Mary's mound, 
In what to him were Sabbath hours 

On Henry's grave he set them round. 

XLIV. 

And sometimes when a funeral came, 
With pensive eyes the train he saw; 

Bareheaded stood, and so would claim 
His share in others' grief and awe. 

XLV. 

But once 'twas more than this. There died 

A hapless widow's only good, 
A daughter, all her help and pride, 

Who toiled to gain their daily food. 

XLVI. 

Who saw their state might well confess 
Such boundless want was strange to see, 

For little can the rich man guess 
The poor man's utter poverty. 

xLvrr. 
And when the burial all was o'er, 

i\nd there the mother staid alone, 
With fingers clasped, and weeping sore, 
She stood, for every hope was gone. 
8 



98 THE SEXTON'S DAUGHTER. 

XLVIII. 

But Simon crept in silence there, 

And stretched his hand beneath her view, 

That held five golden pieces fair, 

More wealth than e'er before she knew. 

XLIX. 

" The aching heart in cannot heal, 
I know, nor give you rest," he said — 

" But thus you will not have to feel 
The pangs that haunt the wretch's bed." 

L. 

Few words she spake, and turned away, 
But lighter heart that eve he bore 

Than he for many a weary day, 
Perchance had ever felt before. 

LI. 

Next day began with sun bright dawn, 
And soon to tend the grave he went; 

From toil by sultry heat withdrawn, 
He felt his strength was overspent : 

LTI. 

He sank to earth in quiet sleep, 
Beside the grave his head he laid, 

And in that slumber soft and deep 
He died below the yew-tree shade. 



APHRODITE. 






i. 

A spring-time eve illumined wide 

A sunny Grecian land, 
Where peace was guarded valiantly 

By many a spearman's hand; 
From field and vineyard home returned 

The weary peasant crew, 
And children laughed and leapt to see 

Their fathers come in view. 

ii. 

The closing twilight dimly fell 

Above the smoking roofs 
The laborer's eyes dropped heavily, 

The housewives left their woofs, 
While softly flew the western breeze 

Above the woods and streams 
But breathed too low to sound amid 

The slumberers' easy dreams. 

ni. 
As on each lonely silent hearth 

The blaze was flickering low, 
The shaggy wolf-dog stretched himself 

Before the crimson glow; 



100 APRHODITE. 

And shy nocturnal visitants, 

And horny-footed Pan, 
Through all the village wandered slow 

To guard the rest of man. 

IV. 

The mourners felt it comfort now 

That they were free to weep, 
And in their musing youthful minds 

Went smilingly to sleep, 
And some in joyous vision sought 

The dance in flowery glades, 
./\nd some a tenderer delight,. 

Unseen in forest shades. 

v. 

Yet one of all the loveliest, 

Young Myrto, sought not rest, 
By crowding fancies kept awake 

That fluttered in her breast, 
While 'mid the pillared porch she sat 

Of her old sire's abode, 
Unheeding that beneath the stars 

Her zoneless bosom glowed. 

VI. 

She stooped her head, whose tresses hid 

Her clenched and trembling hand; 
She felt her heart swell proudlier - 

Than in its purple band ; 
And such the rippling stir of life 

Upon her earnest face, 
It seemed a stormy spirit filled 

A form of marble grace, 



APHRODITE. 101 

VII. 

" And let," she thought, " the poet bear 

His sounding lyre and song, 
And still through temple, field, and mart 

My tuneful fame prolong, 
For if I but repay the strain 

With word or look of praise, 
'Tis then the last of love and verse, 

The first of slavery's days. 

vm. 
" Then with the boisterous wedding comes 

The dark, unhonoured life; 
The worshipped goddess fading then 

Is known an earthly wife; 
And all the longing sighs that now 

In all his utterance play, 
But like a tedious burden round 

An old-remembered lay. 

IX. 

" And if at last from long disdain, 

And cold averted eyes, 
To other lands and cities now 

The bard in anguish flies, 
To other springs and hills and woods 

And other ears than these, 
My name in melody will sound, 

And sail on distant seas. 

x. 
"And if in cave, or desert path, 

Or at triumphal feast, 
The journeying minstrel sinks in death, 

From hopeless toil released; 



102 APHRODITE. 

Upon his tomb be this inscribed, — 

That he for Myrto died; 
And let his last lament record 

Her beauty and her pride." 

XI. 

So flowed the unpitying virgin's thought, 

When pierced the laurel shade 
A voice, that struck with dread and joy 

The bosom of the maid. 
Unseen the man, but known how well ! 

And while he breathed a song, 
His harp-string helped with sweeter grief 

His overburdened tongue. 

XII. 

" Once more, beloved maid ! I strive 

To touch thy frozen ear, 
And wake the hopes so often chilled 

Upon the lap of fear. 
Once more, alas ! I seek to stir 

A heart of human mould 
With throbs of Nature's pulse that has 

Sweet throbbings manifold. 

XIII. 

" And O ! bethink thee, icy breast ! 

How vain the thought of pride 
Which bids thee from my pleading turn 

In sullenness aside ; 
How weak and cheap a thing it is, 

But O ! how rich in good 
The joy of hearts when each to each 

Reveals its fondest mood. 



APHRODITE. 103 

XIV. 

" E'en hadst thou given some rival's head 

The flowery wreath of love, 
Thy scorn of me men would not hate, 

Nor would the gt)ds reprove. 
In words of bitter wrathfulness 

My grief might urge its way. 
But every curse invoked on thee 

Would make my soul its prey. 

xv. 

" O ! give me but one whispered word, 

Or gently wave thy hand: 
Bestow but this on him whose life 

Thy very looks command. 
The light of youth that gilds thee now 

Will not be always thine, 
But thou may' st bid in deathless song 

Thy beauty's radiance shine. 

XVI. 

" Thou speak' st no mild relenting word! 

So part we, I and thou, 
To whom so oft in misery 

Has bent my laurelled brow. 
The gods that favour song and love 

Will not be mocked in vain, 
And higher they, proud Rock ! than thou ! 

To them I lift my strain." 

xvn. 
The minstrel turned his steps away, 

And moved with hurrying feet, 
Till past the slumberous gloom that filled 

The lonely village street; 



104 APHRODITE. 

And through the vale beyond he fled, 

And near the rocky shore, 
And climbed the winding wooded path 

That up the mountain bore. 

XVIII. 

The silent stars were gazing all, 

The moon was up the sky, 
And from below the tranquil sea 

Sent measured sounds on high; 
It broke beneath a steep ascent 

Where Aphrodite's fane 
Appeared a home of steadfast calm 

For wanderers o'er the main. 

XIX. 

And thither bent the bard his course, 

Until the rugged way 
Subdued his desperate recklessness 

To an abhorred delay; 
And pausing, 'mid his haste, the thought 

Of her he left behind 
Brought tears into his burning eyes, 

And checked his fiercer mind. 

xx. 

Yet soon he reached the terraced height, 

The spot the Goddess chose, 
Where channelled pillars round and strong 

At equal spaces rose ; 
Above were graven tablets fair 

With gaps of dark between, 
And o'er the deep receding porch 

Celestial forms were seen. 



APHRODITE. 105 

XXI. 

And soon he gained the marble steps, 

Before the abode divine, 
And soon he oped the brazen doors, 

And sank within the shrine ; 
'Twas dusk, and chill, and noiseless all, 

And scarce amid the shade 
He saw the form of her whose might 

Can give the hopeless aid. 

XXII. 

" And why," he cried, "O Goddess dread! 

Must worshippers of thee, 
'Mid all on earth the most despised, 

Most miserable be ? 
O ! hast thou not the strength to save, 

Or art thou then indeed 
Too cold and too averse a power 

To succour mortal need ? 

xxm. 
" And is it false what oft was said 

In days of old renown, 
What hymn and lay so loud proclaim 

In camp, and field, and town, 
That thou, a bounteous arbitress, 

Wilt hear when mourners call, 
Delightest most in man's delight, 

And sendest bliss to all? 

XXIV. 

" By thee, as tale and history tell, 

And sculptured marble gray, 
And oracle and festal rite, 

Surviving men's decay; 



106 APHRODITE. 

By thee all things are beautiful, 

And peaceable, and strong, 
And joy from every throe is born, 

And mercy conquers wrong. 

xxv. 

u Thy birth, O ! Goddess, kind and smooth, 

Was from the sunny sea, 
The crystal blue and milky foam 

In brightness cradled thee ; 
From thee all fairest things have light, 

Which they to men impart ; 
Then whence arise the pangs and storms 

That rend the lover's heart?" 

XXVI. 

'Twas thus the sorrowing bard addressed 

That prescence blind and dim, 
Startling the visionary space, 

That had no help for him ; 
But then he raised in haste his eyes, 

For lo ! a sudden ray 
Around the Goddess cast a light, 

Her own peculiar day. 

XXVII. 

A living form behold she stood, 

Of more than sculptured grace ! 
The high immortal Queen from heaven, 

The calm Olympian face ! 
Eyes pure from human tear or smile, 

Yet ruling all on earth, 
And limbs whose garb of golden air 

Was Dawn's primeval birth ! 



APHRODITE. 107 

XXVIII. 

With tones like music of a lyre, 

Continuous, piercing, low, 
The sovran lips began to speak, 

Spoke on in liquid flow ; 
It seemed the distant Ocean's voice, 

Brought near and shaped to speech, 
But bre:. thing with a sense beyond 

What words of man may reach. 

XXIX. 

" Weak child ! Not I the puny power 

Thy wish would have me be, 
A rose-leaf floating with the wind 

Upon a summer sea. 
If such thou need'st, go range the fields, 

And hunt the gilded fly, 
And when it mounts above thy head, 

Then lay thee down and die. 

XXX. 

The spells which rule in earth and stars 

Each mightiest thought that lives, 
Are stronger than the kiss a child 

In sudden fancy gives. 
They cannot change, or fail, or fade, 

Nor deign o'er aught to sway 
Too weak to suffer and to strive, 

And tired while still 'tis day. 

XXXI. 

" And thou with better wisdom learn 

The ancient lore to scan, 
Which tells that first in Ocean's breast 

My rule o'er all began; 



108 APHRODITE. 

And know that not in breathless noon 

Upon the glassy main 
The power was born that taught the world 

To hail her endless reign. 

XXXII. 

"The winds were loud, the waves were high, 

In drear eclipse the sun 
Was crouched within the caves of heaven, 

And light had scarce begun. 
The Earth's green front lay drowned below, 

And Death and Chaos fought 
O'er all the tumult vast of things 

Not yet to severance brought. 

XXXIII. 

" 'Twas then that spoke the fateful voice, 

And 'mid the huge uproar, 
Above the dark I sprang to life, 

A good unhoped before. 
My tresses waved along the sky, 

And stars leapt out around, 
And Earth beneath my feet arose, 

And hid the pale profound. 

XXXIV. 

"A lamp amid the night, a feast 

That ends the strife of war; 
To wearied mariners a port, 

To fainting limbs a car; 
To exiled men the friendly roof, 

To mourning hearts the lay; 
To him who long has roamed by night 

The sudden dawn of day. 



APHRODITE. 109 

XXXV. 

" All these are mine, and mine the bliss 

That visits breasts in wo, 
And fills with wine the cup that once 

With tears was made to flow. 
Nor question thou the help that comes 

From Aphrodite's hand; 
For madness dogs the bard who doubts 

Whate'er the gods command." 

XXXVI. 

With lulled and peaceful sense the youth 

Upon the marble floor 
Reclined his head, nor wist he how 

His bosom's pangs were o'er. 
Before the statue's graven base 

He sank in happy rest, 
But visions plain as noonday truth 

Came swiftly o'er his breast. 

xxxvn. 
For in the unmoving body's trance, 

When ear and eye are still, 
The mind prophetic wakes and yearns, 

And moulds the unconscious will ; 
The silent sleeper's heart is near 

The steadfast heart of All, 
And sights to outward view denied 

Obey the spirit's call. 

xxxvin. 
The radiant Goddess changed her look 

Of clear and mild control, 
A gloomy fury seemed she now, 
A tyrant o'er the soul. 
9 



110 APHRODITE. 

With furrowed face and deadly glance 
Like storm she swept away, 

And still the minstrel saw the fiend 
Pursuing swift her prey. 

XXXIX. 

And now she reached the chamber fair. 

The ancient home's recess, 
Where wearied Myrto lay asleep 

In dreamy restlessness. 
The lover saw the grisly sprite 

Beside her couch appear, 
And but for power that held him fast 

He would have shrieked in fear. 

XL. 

The thoughts within the virgin heart 

Took shapes that he could spell, 
Like pictures visible and clear, 

The maiden's tale they tell; 
And Doubt is there, and Pride, and Love 

In fluctuating stir, 
And many a memory of him, 

And songs he framed for her. 

XLI. 

The fair brow quivers fast and oft, 

The smooth lips work and wane, 
And hand, and cheek, and bosom thrill, 

And writhe as if in pain; 
And then in wan dismay she wakes, 

And sees beside her bed 
The spectral ghastliness whose gaze 

Fills all the air with dread. 



APHRODITE. Ill 

XLH. 

She starts, and screams— O ! spare me, spare ! 

I know thy torments well, 
To punish fierce insatiate pride 

Thou com'st to me from hell. 
Forgive, beloved ! return from death ! 

And soon thou shalt avow, 
That she whose scorn was once so cold, 

Can love no less than thou. 

XLnr. 
" But O ! dark demon, if in vain 

I pray the gods for aid, 
Swift let me join my vanished love 

In thy domain of shade ; 
And take these horrid eyes away, 

So pitiless and hard, 
I cannot bear the looks that oft 

I bent upon the bard." 

XLIV. 

She turned and hid her tearful face, 

And sighs convulsive rose, 
And broke the charm that chained the youth 

In motionless repose. 
But still with waking ear he caught 

The groans of Myrto's pain, 
For she herself before him lay 

Within the sacred fane. 

XLV. 

He clasped her quick, and held her close 

Upon his bounding breast, 
With tears and kisses warmed her cheek, 

And knew that he was blest. 



112 APHRODITE ♦ 

And now the maid forgiveness asked, 
Now upward looked and smiled, 

And firmlier knit by sorrow past, 
Their hearts were reconciled. 

xlvi. 
The golden sun sublime arose, 

And filled the shrine with day, 
The earth in gladness opened wide, 

And green the valley lay; 
Serenely bright the Goddess glowed 

Amid the purpled air, 
And looked with gracious eyes benign 

On those adoring there.. 



JOAN D'ARC. 






i. 
Many a lucent star sublime 
In the vault of earthly time ; 
Many a deed, and name, and face, 
Is a lamp of heavenly grace, 
And, to us that walk below, 
Cheers with hope the vale of wo. 
Lo ! the great aerial host, 
Whom our bodily eyes have lost, 
To the spirit re-appear 
With their glory shining here; 
Bearded saints from holy cell ; 
Warriors who for Duty fell ; 
Thoughtful devotees, in youth 
Spell-bound by a glance of Truth. 
And to whom all else has been 
But a thin and changeful scene ; 
All to whom the many shows 
That the years of earth disclose, 
Are but gleams, for moments given, 
Of an ever-present heaven. 

n. 
High amid the dead who give 
Better life to those that live, 

9* 



114 



See where shines the Peasant Maid, 
In her hallowed mail arrayed, 
Whom the Lord of Peace and War 
Sent as on a flaming car, 
From her father's fold afar. 
Hers the calm supernal faith, 
Braving ghastliest looks of death ; 
For, O ! loveliest woodland flower 
Ever bruised in stormiest hour ! 
Guardian saints have nerved thy soul 
Battling nations to control; 
And the vision-gifted eye, 
That, communing with the sky, 
Sank when human steps were nigh, 
Now, in face of fiend and man, 
Must the camp and city scan, 
And outspeed the rushing van. 

nr. 
Pause not, gentle Maiden, now ! 
Awful hands have marked thy brow ; 
And, in lonely hours of prayer, 
'Mid the leafy forest air, 
Boundless Powers, Eternal eyes, 
Looks that made old prophets wise, 
Have inspired thy solitude 
With a rapt, heroic mood, 
And have taught thy humble weakness 
All the strength that dwells in meekness ; 
And with how devouring sway, 
Right, oppressed by Long delay, 
Bursts out in a judgment-day. 
Thus thy heart is high and strong, 
Swelling like cherubic song, 



JOAN D' ARC. 115 

For thou art so low and small, 

It must be the Lord of All 

Who can thus a world appal. 

Race and country, daily speech , 

That makes each man dear to each, 

Friends and home, and love of mother, 

Grandsire's grave, and slaughtered brother, 

Fields familiar, native sky, 

Voices these that on thee cry; 

Winds pursue with vocal might, 

Stars will not be dumb by night, 

And the dry leaf on the ground 

Has a tongue of pealing sound, 

Loud from God commanding thee, 

Go, and set thy nation free ! 

IV. 

Battle's blast is fiercly blowing, 
Clarions sounding, coursers bounding, 
Pennons o'er the tumult flowing, 
Host on host the eye astounding, 
Wave on wave that sea confounding, 
And in headlong fury going, 
Mounted kingdoms wildly dashing 
Lance to lance, and steed to steed; 
Now must haughtiest champions bleed, 
And a myriad swords are flashing, 
Loud on shield and helmet clashing; 
Ne'er had Ruin nobler spoil 
On this broad and bloody soil. 
As the storms a forest crushing, 
Oaks of thousand winters grind, 
So the iron whirl is rushing, 
Shouts before and groans behind. 



116 



Still amid the dead and dying, 
All in shattered ridges lying, 
Pride, Revenge, and youthful Daring, 
And their Cause and Country's Name, 
Drive them on with sweep unsparing,— 
Naught for life, and all for fame ! 
Still above the surge of battle 
Breathes the trump its fatal gale, 
And the hollow tambours rattle 
Chorus to the deadly tale. 
Still is Joan the first in glory, 
Still she sways the maddening fight, 
Kindling all the flames of Story, 
With an unimagined might. 
Squadrons furious close around her, 
Still her blade is waving free ; 
Sword nor lance avails to wound her, 
Terror of a host is she. 
Heavenly Guardian, maiden Wonder ! 
Long shall France resound the day, 
When thou earnest clad in thunder, 
Blasting thy tremendous way. 

v. 

Yet, who closer marked the face 
That o'erruled the battle-place, 
Much had marvelled to discern 
Looks more calm and soft than stern. 
For no flush of hot ambition 
Stained her soul's unearthly mission. 
Raging hate, and stubborn pride, 
Warlike cunning, life-long tried, 
Low before that presence died, 
For within her sainted heart 
Naught of these had found a part. 



117 



God had willed the land to free; 
Handmaiden of God was she. 
Ne'er so smooth a brow before, 
Battle's darkening ensign wore ; 
And 'twas still the gentle eye 
Wont when evening veiled the sky, 
In the whispering shade to see 
Angels haunt the lonely tree. 

VI. 

Loud o'er Orleans' rampart swells 
Music from her steeple bell, 
Loud to France the triumph tells ; 
And the vehement trumpets blending, 
With the shouts to heaven ascending, 
Hail the maid whom seraphs bless, 
Consecrated Championess ! 
Sound from heart to heart that tingles, 
Echoing on without a pause ; 
While her name like sunshine mingles 
With each breath a nation draws. 
All the land, with joy on fire, 
Blazes round the festal march, 
Till they meet the priestly choir 
Under Rheims' cathedral arch. 
Ancient towers, and cloisters hoary, 
Gleam and thrill above the king ; 
Beauteous rite and blazoned story, 
On his crown their lustre fling, 
With an old resurgent glory, 
Laws and Freedom hallowing. 
Therefore, Baron, Count, and Peer, 
Priest and Dame no more in fear, 
All assemble wondering here ; 



118 



And a sea of common men, 
Feasting all with greedy ken, 
Now behold, in pomp appear, 
Smiling, not without a tear, 
Joan, the dearest sight to see, 
First of all the chivalry, 
Bearing low her bannered spear. 

vn. 
Dizzy with their full delight, 
All disperse ere comes the night. 
Charles and all his train are met, 
Revelling in royal hall ; 
Shield and pennon o'er them set, 
Many a doubtful fight recall ; 
And the thronged and clanging town, 
For the rescued land's renown, 
Keeps a sudden carnival. 
Ask ye, where the while is Joan? 
She within the Minster lone, 
To the silent alter steals, 
And before it trembling kneels; 
And amid the shadows dim, 
Faithfully she prays to Him 
Who his light in dark reveals. 
Now again her home she sees, 
Domremy with all its trees, 
Where the ancient beech is growing, 
And the haunted fount is flowing, 
And the Meuse with equal sound 
Breathes its quiet all around. 
Won again by weeping prayer, 
Lo ! her loved protectors there, 
Catherine mild, and Margaret fair. 



JOAN D'ARC. 119 

Over them a light is streaming, 
On their gracious foreheads beaming, 
Effluence from an orb unseen ; 
To which Heaven is but a screen ; 
All our human sight above, 
Not beyond our human love : 
And from thence she hears a voice 
That can make the dead rejoice ; 
— " Give not way to Pride or Fear, 
For the end of all is near ! " 

VIII. 

End with many tears implored ! 

'Tis the sound of home restored ! 

And as mounts the angel show, 

Gliding with them she would go, 

But again to stoop below, 

And, returned to green Lorraine, 

Be a shepherd child again. 

Now the crown of Charles is won, 

Now the work of God is done, 

Angel wings, away ! away ! 

Lift her home by close of day, 

And upon her mother's breast 

Give her weaiy spirit rest. 

Then, with vernal thickets nigh, 

And the waters glistening by, 

In smooth valleys let her keep 

Undescried her quiet sheep. 

This the promise to the maid 

By the heavenly voice conveyed: 

O ! how differing far the doom ! 

O ! how close the bloody tomb ; 

Thus men hear, but not discern, 

What Heaven wills that they should learn ; 



120 joand'arc. 

And the Time and Deed alone 
Make the eternal meaning known. 

IX. 

Wail, ye fields and woods of France ! 
Rivers, dim your sunny glance ! 
All of strong, and fair, and old 
That the eyes of men behold, 
Mountain gray, and hermit dell, 
Sun and stars unquenchable, 
Founts whose kisses woo the lea, 
Endless, many-flooded sea, 
All that witnesses a power 
To o'erawe the importunate hour, 
Human works devoutly wrought 
To unfold enduring thought, 
Shrines that seem the reverened birth 
Of an elder, holier earth, 
Mourn above your altars dear, 
Quaking with no godless fear ! 
And, thou deepest heart of man, 
Home of Love ere Sin began, 
Faith prophetic Mercy mild, 
Patriot passion underlie d, 
Mourn with righteous grief the day 
When was hushed your choral lay ! 
When the hovering guardian band 
Of the liberated land, 
Radiant kings, were seen to wane, 
And were eyeless cloud again ; 
When the foe, who far recoiled, 
By a maiden's presence foiled, 
Rushed again in grim despair 
From his burning bloody lair, 



121 



And made prey of her whose word 
Was so oft a living sword. 



Woful end, and conflict long! 
Stress of agonizing wrong! 
In the black and stifling cell, 
Watched by many a sentinel, 
Not a saint is with her now 
Beaming light from locks and brow ; 
No melodious angel calls 
Through the huge unshaken walls ; 
But the brutal sworder jeers, 
Making merry at her tears, 
And the priests her faith assail 
Till it fears, but cannot fail. 
So the hopeful cheer she wore 
Like a robe of state before — 
Branch and leaf, and summer flower, 
Perish from her hour by hour. 
But the firm sustaining root 
Dies not with the feathery shoot. 
So survives her soul — but O! 
Fierce the dosing gust of wo, 
When beneath the eyes of day 
Thousands gather round her way, 
And a host in steel array ; 
When the captive, wan and lowly, 
Walks beside her jailer slowly, 
Till before the expectant pile 
Week she stands, with saddest smile; 
And her steady tones reply 
To the cowled tormentor's lie — 
" God commanded me to go, 
10 



122 JOAN D' ARC. 

And I went, as well ye know, 
To destroy my country's foe !" 
While she clasps the saving rood 
Fiercer swells the murderers' mood, 
Till, through rising smoke and flame 
Comes no sound but Jesu's name 
Jesu — Jesu — oft renewed, 
Oft by stifling pain subdued. 
Soon that cry is heard no more, 
And the people, mute before, 
Groan to Heaven, for all is o'er. 

XL 

Word untrue ! That All can ne'er 
Have it close and destiny here. 
All that can be o'er on earth 
Is the shifting cloudland's birth ; 
Dream and shadow, mist and error, 
Joy unblest, and nightmare terror — 
Passions blent in ghostly play, 
Twinkling of a gusty day — 
Glittering sights that vaguely roll, 
Catch the eye, but mock the soul — 
Griefs and hopes ill understood, 
Tyrants of man's weaker mood, 
Folly's loved, portentous brood — 
These, and all the aims they cherish, 
In their native tomb may perish. 
Phantoms shapeless, huge, and wild . 
That beset the graybeard child — * 
Loud usurpers, fierce and mean, 
Ruling an unstable scene ; 
Blinding hate, and gnawing lust, 
Lies that cheat our wiser trust, 
These may cleaue to formless"dust ; 



joan d'arc. 123 



But the earth, oppressed so long 
By the heavy steps of Wrong, 
Sends an awful voice on high 
With a keen accusing cry, 
And appeals to him whose lore 
Tells — the All can ne'er be o'er. 



xn. 



Faithful maiden, gentle heart! 

Thus our thoughs of grief depart ; 

Vanishes the place of death; 

Sounds no more thy painful breath ; 

O'er the unbloody stream of Meuse 

Melt the silent evening dews, 

And along the banks of Loire 

Rides no more the armed destroyer. 

But thy native waters flow 

Through a land unnamed below, 

And thy woods their verdure wave 

In the vale beyond the grave, 

Where the deep-dyed western sky 

Looks on all with tranquil eye, 

And on distant dateless hills 

Each high peak with radiance fills. 

There amid the oak-tree shadow, 

And o'er all the beech-crowned meadow, 

Those for whom the earth must mourn 

In their peaceful joy sojourn. 

Joined with Fame's selected few, 

Those whom Rumor never knew, 

But no less to Conscience true : 

Each grave prophet soul sublime, 

Pyramids of elder Time ; 

Bards with hidden fire possessed, 

Flashing from a wo-worn breast; 



124 



Builders of man's better lot, 
Whom their hour acknowledged not, 
Now with strengh appeased and pure 
Feel whate'er they loved is sure. 
These and such as these the train, 
Sanctified by former pain. 
"Mid those softest yellow rays 
Sphered afar from mortal praise ; 
Peasant, matron, monarch, child, 
Saint undaunted, hero mild, 
Sage whom pride has ne'er beguiled; 
And with them the Champion-maid 
Dwells in that sere nest glade ; 
Danger, toil, and grief no more 
Fret her life's unearthly shore ; 
Gentle sounds that will not cease. 
Breathe but peace, and ever peace ; 
While above the immortal trees, 
Michael and his host she sees 
Clad in diamond panoplies; 
And more near, in tenderer light, 
Honoured Catherine, Margaret bright, 
Agnes whom her loosened hair 
Robes like woven amber air- 
Sisters of her childhood come 
To her last eternal home. 



HYMNS OF A HERMIT. 



HYMN I. 



Sweet Morn ! from countless cups of gold 
Thou liftest reverently on high 

More incense fine than earth can hold, 
To fill the sky. 

One interfusion wide of love, 

Thine airs and odours moist ascend, 

And, 'mid the azure depths above, 
With light they blend. 

The lark, by his own carol blest, 

From thy green harbours eager springs ; 

And his large heart in little breast 
Exulting sings. 

On lands and seas, on fields and woods, 
And cottage roofs and ancient spires, 

O, Morn ! thy gaze creative broods, 
While night retires. 

Aloft the mountain ridges beam 
Above their quiet steeps of gray ; 

The eastern clouds with glory stream, 
And vital day. 

10* 



126 HYMNS OF A HERMIT. 

By valleys dank, and river's brim, 

Through corn-clad fields and wizard groves, 

O'er dazzling tracks and hollows dim, 
One spirit roves. 

The broad-helm' d oak-tree's endless growth, 

The mossy stone that crowns the hill, 
The violet's breast, to gazers loath, 

In sunshine thrill. 
A joy from hidden paradise 

Is rippling down the shiny brooks, 
With beauty like the gleams of eyes 

In tenderest looks. 

Where'er the vision's boundaries glance 
Existence swells with teeming power, 

And all illumined earth's expanse 
Inhales the hour. 

Not sands, and rocks, and seas immense, 
And vapours thin and halls of air; 

Not these alone, with kindred glance, 
The splendour share. 

The fly his jocund round inweaves, 
With choral strain the birds salute 

The voiceful flocks, and nothing grieves, 
And naught is mute. 

In Man, O Morn ! a loftier good, 

With conscious blessing, fills the soul, 

A life by reason understood, 
Which metes the whole. 

With healthful pulse, and tranquil fire, 
Which plays at ease in every limb, 

His thoughts uncheck'd to heaven aspire, 
Reveal'd in him. 



HYMNS OF A HERMIT. 127 

To thousands tasks of fruitful hope, 
With skill against his toil he bends, 

And finds his work's determined scope 
Where'er he wends. 

From earth, and earthly toil and strife, 
To deathless aims his love may rise, 

Each dawn may wake to better life, 
With purer eyes. 

Such grace from thee, O God! be ours, 

Renew'd with every morning's ray, 
And fresh'ning still with added flowers, 
Each future day. 

To Man is given one primal star ; 

One day-spring's beam has dawned below. 
From thine our inmost glories are, 

With thine we glow. 

Like earth, awake, and warm and bright 
With joy the spirit moves and burns; 

So up to thee, O Fount of Light! 
Our light returns. 



HYMN II. 



By scale and method works the Will Supreme, 
Nor clouds, nor waves, without a limit stream; 
And all the floods that daylight never saw, 
The rayless tide of ruin owns a law. 

O'er all confusion's marring earth and air, 
O'er all the shuddering hours of man's despair 
Still reigns one fix'd decree of peace and love, 
And still, though dim below, 'tis bright above. 

Yet those clear eyes that seek and read the True, 
Which disappoints not long the earnest view 
Though firm their faith, sometimes with doubt may mark 
The fearful signs when Heaven, it seems, is dark 

When hoary rule and custom's hallow'd sway 
By selfish force are lavish'd all away, 
Misused by pride and gain, while power impure 
Reveres no right, so leans on none secure ; 

When through the ranks of grave ancestral state 
Poor baseness creeps, and saps whate'er was great 
Chokes with sweet baits a nation's vital breath, 
And decks it out to be a prey for death; 

When ancient glories blazon modern shame, 
And Folly blows the moss-grown trump of Fame, 
When waste profuse, and idlest joys alone, 
Degrade the Council's halls and Monarch's throne ; 

Then Faith and Conscience note with sober ken 
The brood of woes begot by sins of men, 
And, standing fast, behold majestic Law 
By those its chosen hands, despoil'd of awe. 



HYMNS OF A HERMIT. 129 

No self-subjecting force of soul is theirs, 
That public toil as noblest honour bears ; 
And seeks to raise, from step to step of good, 
The hearts that now but long for daily food. 

To build their tower they undermine the wall, 
And let, to feed their fire, the roof-tree fall; 
To frame a wine-cup, they pluck off their crown, 
And play in lordly sloth the drunken clown, 

So spreads from hearth to hearth o'er all the land 
The rumour whispering late revenge at hand; 
And countless hosts unsheath at last and wield 
The curses long within the heart conceaPd. 

Then eyes, made hard and dull by want and wo, 
With beistial fierceness each select a foe; 
And souls, untrain'd to yearn for purer joy, 
With Hate's dark instinct burst, pursue, destroy. 
Unrighteous deeds of long-departed time, 
Forgotten follies, ghosts of buried crime, 
Each inner chamber's thoughts of lust and gore 
All start to view, and sweep with ocean's roar. 

The glittering legends fraught with smooth delight, 
The names revered, and blazonries of right, 
All ties of living love, pride, ease, and trust, 
Laws, charters, customs, quiet, crash to dust; 

While madd'ning stars in new-found courses wheel, 
And earth's invaded base quake and reel, 
Each frantic wish, and strange deluding cry, 
Like mountain flames and ashes, leap on high. 

So fire invades a regal palace old, 
With all its carven ivory, bronze, and gold, 
And sunk in uncouth wreck and shapeless gloom, 
Gem, column, kingly bust, and marble tomb. 



130 HYMNS OF A HERMIT. 

Thus fade in havoc's wide and fierce embrace, 
By mortals' will, their life's repose and grace, 
And all that wore the look of weightiest power 
But strikes with louder fall the fatal hour. 

'Tis hard, O God! for men unmoved to scan 
The weary bounds of grief that compass man, 
The dusk expanse of seething ills survey, 
Nor wish the whole a dream's unsteadfast play. 

Thus fain the wise would bid depart afar 
The sight of myriads lost in passion's war, 
In blind and empty reasoning's vague debate, 
Devouring appetite, and poisoning hate. 

Yet o'er the whirl of ruin, 'mid the shock 
That smites all towers, makes all foundations rock, 
It is thy arm, O God! which, wrapt in cloud, 
Weighs down the strong, and thunderstrikes the proud. 

With blasting flames thy holiest judgments shine, 
And lightnings flash around thy face benign, 
While clad in wrath and night thy blessings dwell, 
And seem the horrid shades of Death and hell. 

And thus, through all Destruction's 'whelming course, 
A hopeful promise works with secret force, 
O'er those remains, immense and shatter'd soil, 
Bids new-born powers with happier purpose toil. 

Now Law to peace and reverence moulds again 
The sadden'd hearts and firmer thoughts of men; 
And rights by bad occasion long subdued 
To bolder growth arise, at heart renew' d. 

Uprear'd to loftier height on surer ground, 
A nation lifts the head serene and crown' d, 
And o'er the waste of battle-fields and graves, 
With strong feet stands, and sun-bright pinions waves . 



HYMNS OF A HERMIT. 131 

Through fast receding skirts of storm and dread, 
With kindling eyes it sees thy glory spread ; 
With songs triumphant over vanquish'd ill, 
Thy love proclaims and hymns thy peaceful wilL 



HYMN III. 



O Thou! whom earth and stars proclaim 
The sire of this resplendent Whole, 

But chief on Man hast set thy name 
And shed thy glory round the soul, — 

Beneath thy Heaven, with spheres alive, 
The heart expands as wide as they ; 

Devotion's failing wings revive, 
And joyful soar their upward way. 

Soon breaks the dawn in golden glow, 
The rays thou giv'st the breast inspire, 

And human thoughts from thee that flow, 
Are blent amid those beams of fire. 

This world of ours is opening round, 
In lines obscure, reflecting Thee ; 

Where, kindling cloud, and wave, and ground, 
Thy sovran glance in all we see. 

Thy pillar' d halls, the mountains, rise. 

Of thee thy living waters tell ; 
And fields, and woods, that drink the skies, 

With thine abundance teem and swell. 

Impress'd by lines of mystic flame, 
The wond'rous image lives in man, 

And song spontaneous hymns the fame 
Of thy creation's endless plan. - 

Oh! Source divine, and Life of all, 
The Fount of Being's fearful sea, 

Thy depth would every heart appal, 
That saw not love supreme in Thee, 



HYMNS OF A HERMIT. 133 

We shrink before thy vast abyss, 

Where worlds on worlds eternal brood ! 

We know thee truly but in this, 
That thou bestowest all our good ! 

And so "mid boundless time and space, 

Oh ! grant us still in Thee to dwell. 
And through thy ceaseless web to trace, 

Thy presence working all things well. 
Nor let thou life's delightful play 

Thy truth's transcendent vision hide; 
Nor strength and gladness lead astray, 

From Thee our nature's only guide. 

Bestow on every joyous thrill 

Thy deeper tone of reverent awe; 
Make pure thy creature's erring will, 

And teach his heart to love thy law. 



11 



HYMN IV. 



O Thou! sole Sire ! prevailing Lord of all, 

Who spread's! thy fulness round this earthly ball ; 

You teach me still in every face to see 

An ampler mould than all the skies of Thee. 

By Passion wrench'd and darken'd, torn by Hate, 
By Sin dethroned from all our heavenly state, 
Thy spirit stain'd, defaced, and scarr'd with shame, 
Still shows on each thy noblest creature's name. 

Though changed, how far ! from all thy will commands 
And bruised and maim'd by Evil's rending hands; 
While Life and thought, and Soul, and Sense are ours, 
Still lasts the wreck of more than earthly powers. 

Renew — thou only canst, O God ! — the plan 
Of truth and love, so blurr'd and crush'd in man — 
That good, design' d for all, to all unknown, 
Till set before our eyes in One alone. 

From Him, so full of Thee, the Father's mind, 
The Father's holy love to all our kind, 
Oh, teach us Thou to draw whate'er of best 
Restores to Thee the self-be wilder'd breast; 

Amid our waste be He a living spring, 
Amid our lawless wars a peaceful king ; 
In our dark night be He a dawning star, 
In wo a friend, to aid us come from far. 

And thus, that we his help and hope may share, 
Our hearts, o'erthrown by sin, do thou repair ; 
And so, in chambers purified by Thee. 
His peace may dwell, and there his Spirit be. 



HYMNS OF A HERMIT. 135 

O Thou ! whose will has join'd us each to all, 
And made the lonely heart itself appal; 
Who art the vital bound that knits in one 
Thy countless myriads born beneath the sun; 

Thou aid us, Heavenly Sire ! that each for each 
May live, as He for all, in deed and speech ; 
And so do Thou for us, paternal Lord ! 
Make bright, like His, the face, and pure the word. 

Like us a man, He trode on earthly soil, 
He bore each pang, and strove in weary toil; 
He spake with human words, with pity sigh'd; 
Like us He mourn'd, and fear'd, and wept, and died. 

Yet all thy fullness, Father, dwelt in Him, 
In whom no shadow made thy glory dim; 
Such strengh, O God! from Him to us derive, 
And make, by life from Him, our death alive. 



HYMN V. 



Amid the gay and noisy throng 

Around me fluttering, wheeling, shining, 
My ears are fill'd with shout and song, 

But yet my soul is still repining. 

In every face around I see 

Some heart- felt curse in silence working; 
Each eye reflects my sins on me. 

And shows me all within me lurking. 

'Mid bounding joy and passion's glow, 
' Mid sportive bursts of mutual gladness, 

Thin shades arise from far below, 
Where boils a secret gulf of madness. 

A quivering cheek, a faltering glance, 
One throb, one sigh, the whole revealing ; 

In all the flashing, whirling dance, 
I see a world of shipwreck reeling. 

And while I fain would pause and think, 
Me too the tumult onward presses; 

In vain I strive, in vain I shrink ; 

My breast the hour's vague fiend possesses. 

'Mid wreaths and gems, 'mid masks and crowns, 
'Mid brows austere, or smooth from sorrow, 

On all alike one ruin frowns, 

And bodes for all one fearful morrow. 

And 'tis the worst despair to know, 
By pangs within my bosom aching, 

How deep in each the root of wo. 
How many a heart is slowly breaking. 



HYMNS OF A HERMIT. 136 

But while my sad bewilder'd view 
The wide confusion vainly traces, 

One look I see serenely true, 

Among the false and loveless faces. 

Like yon blue sky, when first it shows 

The storm-tost ship how Heaven hath pity; 

Or some pure mountain breeze that blows 
Its healing o'er a plague-struck city 

A voice not loud, like wind or wave, 
A look made low by conscious greatness, 

Where all is calm, and, deep, and grave, 
With a full soul's mature sedate ness. 

By Him subdued to thought and peace, 
The crowd no more in tumult wander, 

The sounds of surging riot cease, 
And hearts high swollen devoutly ponder. 

By his mild glance and sober power 

Renew'd to tranquil asperation, 
My soul escapes the reckless hour, 

And learns his spirit's pure elation. 

To thee O God! a man redeem' d, 
With all a world to thee returning, 

We own the light from Him that beam'd, 
In Him the source for ever burning. 

So, 'mid our stormy griefs and joys, 
May He still teach unforced devotion, 

Recall our shaken being's poise, 
And clear and deepen all emotion. 



11* 



HYMN VI. 



O unseen Spirit I now a calm divine 

Comes forth from Thee, rejoicing earth and air I 
Trees, hills, and houses, all distinctly shine, 

And thy great ocean slumbers every where. 

The mountain ridge against the purple sky 
Stands clear and strong with darkened rocks and dells, 

And cloudless brightness opens wide on high 
A home aerial, where thy presence dwells. 

The chime of bells remote, the murmuring sea, 
The song of birds in whispering copse and wood. 

The distant voice of children's thoughtless glee, 
And maiden's song, are all one voice of good* 

Amid the leaves' green mass a sunny play 
Of flash, and shadow stirs like inward life; 

The ship's white sail glides onward far away, 
Unhaunted by a dream of storm or strife. 

Upon the narrow bridge of foot-worn plank, 
The peasant stops where swift the waters gleam. 

And broods as if his heart in silence drank 

More freshing draughts than that untainted stream. 

The cottage roof, the burn, the spire, the graves, 
All quaff the rest of seasons hush'd as this, 

And earth enjoys, while scarce its foliage waves, 
The deep repose and harmony of bliss. 

O Thou ! the primal fount of life and peace, 
Who shedd'st thy breathing quiet all around, 

In me command that pain and conflict cease. 
And turn to music every jarring sound. 



HYMNS OF A HERMIT, 139 

How longs each gulf within the weary soul 
To taste the life of this benignant hour, 

To be at one with thine untroubled Whole, 
And in itself to know thy hushing power. 

Amid the joys of all my grief revives, 

And shadows thrown from me thy sunshine mar; 
With this serene to-day dark memory strives, 

And draws its legions of dismay from far. 

Prepare, O Truth Supreme I through shame and pain 

A heart attuned to thy celestial calm; 
Let not reflection's pangs be roused in vain, 

But heal the wounded breast with searching balm* 

So, firm in steadfast hope, in thought secure, 

In full accord to all thy world of joy, 
May I be nerved to labours high and pure, 

And Thou thy child to do thy work employ. 

So might in many hearts be kindled then 
The lambent fire of faith not rashly strong — 

So might be taught to souls of doubtful men 
Thy tranquill bliss, thy love's divinest song. 

In One, who walk'd on earth a man of wo, 
Was holier peace than e'en this hour inspires; 

From Him to me let inward quiet flow, 
And give the might my failing will requires. 

So this great All around, so He, and Thou, 
The central source and awful bound of things, 

May fill my heart with rest as deep as now 
To land, and sea, and air, thy presence brings. 



HYMN VII. 



Thou, Lord! who rear'st the mountains' height , 
And makest the cliffs with sunshine bright; 
Oh, grant that I may own thy hand 
No less in every grain of sand! 

With forests huge of dateless time 
Thy will has hung each peak sublime ; 
But wither'd leaves beneath a tree, 
Have tongues that tell us loud of Thee* 

While clouds to clouds through ages call, 
Thou pour'st the thundering waterfall; 
But every silent drop of dew 
Reflects thy order' d world to view. 

In all the immense, the strange, and old, 
Thy presence careless men behold; 
In all the little, weak and mean, 
By faith be Thou as clearly seen. 

Thou teach that not a leaf can grow 
Till life from Thee within it flow; 
That not a speck of dust can be, 
O Fount of Being ! save by Thee. 

Instruct my soul, by shows distraught, 
Too vast and loud for peaceful thought, 
That every quiet note and gleam, 
With Thee to musing spirits beam. 

Inspire me, Thou, in every glance 
Of all our dreams confuse as chance, 
In every change of mortal things 
To see a power from Thee that springs; 



HYMNS OF A HERMIT. 141 

In every human word and deed, 
Each flash of feeling, will, or creed, 
To know a plan ordain' d above, 
Begun and ending all in love. 

So smallest bubbles here on earth 
With me shall claim a heavenly birth, 
And each faint atom passing by 
Seem bright with thine eternal eye. 

So best we learn what light sublime 
Is hid within the clouds of time, 
Whose darkness, dreadful though it be, 
From those who seek conceals not Thee. 



HYMN VIII. 



I stood upon the heap'd remains 

Of ancient worlds 'mid waste and rock, 

Where fire had heaved the rifted plains, 
And flood had worn each massive block; 

Great layers of cinders, ashes piled, 
And molten streams congeal'd to stone, 

Gray peaks by biting ages filed, 
And shapeless rums overthrown ; 

Dark vales descending headlong deep, 
Whose gulf our human thought devours, 

And iron crags upon the steep 

Sepulchral thrones of perish'd powers. 

What all around I seem'd to scan 

Was desolation's eyeless face, 
A world whose dim forgotten plan, 

No present skill avail' d to trace. 

The crystal sky's harmonious frame, 
The joyous earth of fruitful cheer, 

No kindred here methought could claim, 
Where all was death, and grief, and fear, 

Swift fled the clouds that dismal hung, 
Forth stept the sun with godlike sway, 

The gloom no more about me clung, 
And glorious radiance fill'd the day. 

A boundless hall of purple sky. 

Around me spread celestial air, 
And smallest woods were seen to lie, 

In downy softness floating there. 



HYMNS OF A HERMIT 143 

Beyond the mountains' nearer view, 

So stern and rude, theoce an lay, 
A circling plain of azure hue, 

Becalm' d in evening's loveliest ray. 

Far off, the shore, the fields, the vales, 

The town, the hamlets. glancing shone, 
And burnish'd isles and gliding sails 

Were bright with life beyond their own. 
But near, how changed is all around ! 

Destruction's wo and conflict o'er, 
The pathless rocks, the dells profound, 

To me are dark and sad no more. 

I see the herbage climb and steal 

Through dens where once the earthquake 
fought, 
And cliff and peak seem all to feel 

A stamp of good serenely wrought. 

Below the valley seems to shut 

Within its mounds a joyous rill; 
Not far beyond, a peasant's hut 

Sends curling smoke along the hill. 

The wary goat is browsing nigh, 

A bird is wheeling smooth in air, 
Here seeks the flitting butterfly 

'Mid mountain plants an odorous fare. 
Here nature's lonely fortress towers, 

By giant struggles rear'd and wall'd; 
Yet contemplation's happiest flowers 

Are opening bright and un appall' d. 

Thou, God, so rulest; such the plan 
Of endless change, evolving good ; 

Thou leadest thus desponding man 
With hope on all thy works to brood. 



144 HYMNS OF A HERMIT. 

In all to see an endless will, 
For all educing light and life; 

Thy blessings born from seeming ill, 
And peace the end assured of strife. 

So Thou in me, O God ! ordain 
That quiet faith and gladness pure, 

O'er all convulsions past may reign, 
And root my soul in Thee secure. 

So haggard wrecks of former wo 
Beneath thy radiant light may shine, 

And charm' d to steadfast being, show 
O'er all their havoc bliss divine. 



HYMN IX. 



O Thou who strength and wisdom sheddest 

O'er all thy countless works below, 
And harmony and beauty spreadest 

On lands unmoved, and seas that flow ! 
From grains and motes to spheres uncounted, 

From deep beneath, to suns above, 
My gaze with awe and joy has mounted, 

And found in all thy ordering love. 

The fly around me smoothly flitting, 

The lark that hymns the morning star, 
The swan on crystal water sitting, 

The eagle hung in skies afar — 
To all their cleaving wings thou givest, 

Like those that bear the seraph's flight; 
In all, O perfect Will ! thou livest, 

For all hast oped thy world of light. 

The grass that springs beside the fountain, 

The silver waves that sparkle there, 
The trees that robe the shadowing mountain, 

And high o'er all the limpid air — 
Amid the vale each lowly dwelling, 

Whose hearths with sweet religion shine, 
In measure all things round are swelling 

With tranquil being's force divine. 

And deep and vast beyond our wonder, 
The links of power that bind the whole, 

While day and dusk, and breeze and thunder, 
And life and death unceasing roll. 
12 



146 HYMNS OF A HERMIT. 

While all is wheel' d in endless motion, 
Thou changest not, upholding all; 

And lifting man in pure devotion, 
On Thee thou teachest him to call. 

To him, thy child, thyself revealing, 

He sees what all is meant to be; 
From him thy secret not concealing, 

Thou bidd'st his will aspire to Thee. 
And so we own in thy creation 

An image painting all thou art; 
And crowning all the revelation 

Thy loftiest work, a human heart. 

The will, the love, the sunlike reason, 

Which thou hast made the strength of man, 
May ebb and flow through day and season, 

And oft may mar their seeming plan ; 
But Thou art here to nerve and fashion 

With better hopes our world of care, 
To calm each base and lawless passion, 

And so the heavenly life repair. 

In all the track of earth-born ages, 

Each day displays thy guidance clear, 
And, best divined by holiest sages, 

Makes every child in part a seer. 
Thy laws are bright with purest glory, 

To us thou givest congenial eyes, 
And so in earth's unfolding story, 

We read thy truth that fills the skies. 

But 'mid thy countless forms of being 
One shines supreme o'er all beside, 

And man, in all thy wisdom seeing, 
In Him reveres a sinless guide. 



HYMNS OF A HERMIT. 147 

In Him alone, no longer shrouded 
By mist that dims all meaner things, 

Thou dwell' st, O God! unveil'd, unclouded, 
And fearless peace thy presence brings. 

Then teach my heart, celestial Brightness ! 

To know that Thou art hid no more, 
To sun my spirit's dear-bought whiteness 

Beneath thy rays, and upward soar. 
In all that is, a law unchanging 

Of Truth and Love may I behold, 
And own, 'mid thought's unbounded ranging, 

The timeless One proclaim'd of old ! 



HYMN X. 



Time more than earthly o'er this hour prevails, 
While thus I stand beside the newly-dead: 

My heart is raised in awe. in terror quails 
Before these relics, whence the life is fled. 

That face, so well-beloved, is senseless now, 
And lies a shrunken mask of common clay ; 

No more shall thought inspire the pulseless brow, 
Or laughter round the mouth keep holiday. 

In vain affection yearns to own as man 

This clod turn'd over by the plough of death ; 

The sharpen' d nose, the frozen eyes we scan, 
And wondering think the heap had human breath. 

An hour ago its lightest looks or throbs, 

Impell'd in me the bosom's ample tide; 
Its farewell words awaken'd sighs and sobs, 

To me more vivid seem'd than all beside. 
Now not a worm is crawling o'er the earth, 

But shows than this an impulse more divine ; 
And wandering lost in stunn'd reflection's dearth, 

I only feel what total loss is mine. 

Cold hand, I touch thee ! Perish'd friend ! I know 
What years of mutual joy are gone with thee; 

And yet from these benumb'd remains there flow 
Calm thoughts that first with chasten'd hopes agree . 

How strange is death to life ! and yet how sure 
The law which dooms each living thing to die ! 

Whate'er is outward cannot long endure, 
And all that lasts eludes the subtlest eye. 



HYMNS OF A HERMIT. 149 

Because the eye is only made to spell 

The grosser garb and failing husk of things; 

The vital strengths and streams that inlier dwell, 
Our faith divines amid their secret springs. 

The stars will sink as fade the lamps of earth, 
The earth be lost as vapour seen no more, 

And all around that seems of oldest birth, 
Abides one destined day — and all is o'er. 

Himalah's piles, like heaps of autumn leaves, 
Will one day spread along the winds of space, 

And each strong stamp of man the world receives 
Will flit like steps in sand without a trace. 

Yet something still will somewhere needs abide 
Of all whose being e'er has fill'd our thought; 

In different shapes to other worlds may glide, 
But still must live as more than empty naught. 

The trees decay'd, their parent soil will feed, 
Whence trees may grow more fair than grew the first ; 

To worlds destroy' d, so worlds may still succeed, 
And still the earliest may have been the worst. 

Thus, never desperate, muse believing men ; 

But what, O Power Divine ! shall men become ? 
This pale memorial meets my gaze again, 

And grief a moment bids my hopes be dumb- 

Not thus, O God ! desert us 1 Rather I 
Should sink at once to unremembering clay, 

And close my sight on thy translucent sky, 
Than yield my soul to death a helpless prey; 

Oh ! rather bear beyond the date of stars 

All torments heap'd that nerve and soul can feel, 

Than but one hour believe destruction mars 
Without a hope the life our breasts reveal. 
12* 



150 HYMNS OF A HERMIT. 

Bold is the life and deep and vast in man, 
A flood of being pour'd uncheck'd from Thee ; 

To Thee return' d by thine eternal plan, 

When tried and train' d thy will unveil' d to see. 

The spirit leaves the body's wondrous frame, 
That frame itself a world of strength and skill ; 

The nobler inmate new abodes will claim, 
In every change to Thee aspiring still. 

Although from darkness born, to darkness fled, 
We know that light beyond surrounds the whole ; 

The man survives, though the weird-corpse be dead. 
And He who dooms the flesh, redeems the soul. 



HYMN XL 



Each trembling spray and little flower 

Repeats a tale of God, 
Who feeds their life with every shower 

That wets the steaming sod. I 

He gave the force unseen and strange 

That works in every pore, 
Through hours, and days, and seasons' range, 

Unfolding wiser lore, 

A course of endless change in all 

By changeless rules decreed, 
That weave about this teeming vale 

New life from every seed. 

Thou, seen around, above the whole, 

Sustaining every part, 
By each to man's believing soul 

Displayest what thou art. 

Unmeasured might, unmingled good, 

In countless beings shown; 
That fills each leaf in all the wood, 

In every bud is known. 

Beneath thy sun their fruits mature, 

And so a world sustain; 
Yet still the procreant seeds endure, 

And all shall flower again. 

O God ! thy forests old attest, 

How fix'd thy wisdom's plan; 
The sudden grass may teach us best 

How much thy movements can. 



152 HYMNS OF A HERMIT, 

But while unfathomable will 
Thus rules creation's host ; 

living Truth ! instruct me still 
That man reveals thee most. 

He grows like herbs, like leaves decays 

And turns again to dust ; 
But even his flesh proclaims thy praise, 

And bids his reason trust. 

Like some fair plant the body grows, 

But oh ! how subtlier knit 
The web and frame, that largely show& 

Thy life pervading it ! 

A moving frame, an engine strong, 
For thought and choice to guide ; 

When these to it no more belong 
In darkness laid aside. 

Give Thou the life which we require,, 

That rooted fast in Thee, 
From Thee to Thee we may aspire^ 

And earth thy garden be. 



HYMN XII. 

O'er throngs of men around I cast mine eyes, 
While each to separate work his hand applies ; 
The mean who toil for food the proud for fame, 
And crowds by custom led, with scarce an aim. 

Here busy dwarfs gigantic shadows chase, 
As if they thus could grow a giant race ; 
Unknowing what they are, they fain would be 
Such empty dreams as in their sleep they see. 

There lives, like glittering bubbles mount the sky, 
Contemning earth, from whence they rose on high, 
A moment catch the stars' eternal rays, 
And burst and vanish in the moon's clear gaze : 

Or torn by passion, swoln with falsest pride, 
Betray'd by doubt that mocks each surer guide, 
The rebel heart, in self-enthroned disdain, 
Its lawless weakness boasts, and penal pain. 

Alone it loves to bleed and groan apart, 
And scorn the crowd who stir the seething mart, 
Who each will own, befool' d by ease and pelf, 
Nor earth nor heaven beyond his shrivell'd self 

And yet, O God ! within each darken' d soul 
Is life akin to thy creation's whole, 
That needs but will to see, and straight would find 
The world one frame for one pervading Mind. 

In all things round one sacred Power would know, 
From Thee diffused through all thy works below ; 
In every breath of life would hear thy call, 
And All discern in Each, and Thee in All 



154 HYMNS OP A HERMIT. 

A truth too vast for spirits lost in sloth, 
By self-indulgence marr'd of nobler growth, 
Who bear about, in impotence and shame, 
Their human reason's visionary name. 

Oh! grant the crowds of earth may read thy plan, 
And strive to reach the hope design' d for man ; 
Though now, shorn, stunted, twisted, wither'd, spent, 
We dare not dream how high thy love's intent. 

Oh, God ! 'twere more than life to mouldering dust, 
The hour that kindled men to thoughtful trust — 
That taught our hearts to seek thy righteous will, 
And so with love thy wisdom's task fulfil. 

Redeem'd from fear, and wash'd from lustful blot, 
By faith we then might rise above our lot ; 
And like thy chosen few, restored within, 
By hearts as morning pure might conquer sin ! 



HYMN XIII. 



The stream of life from fountains flows, 

Conceal' d by sacred woods and caves ; 
From crag to dell unchecked it goes, 
And hurrying fast from where it rose, 

In foam and flash exulting raves. 
But straight below the torrent's leap, 

Serenely bright its effluence lies, 
And waves that thunder' d down the steep 
Are hush'd in quiet, mute and deep, 

Reflecting rock, and trees, and skies. 
And 'mid the pool, disturb'd yet clear, 

The noisy gush that feeds it still 
Is seen again descending sheer, 
A cataract within the mere, 

As bright as down the hill. 

A living picture, smooth and true, 

Of headlong fight and restless power, 
Whose burst for ever feeds anew 
The lake of fresh and silver dew 

That paints and drinks the stormy shower. 
So Thought, with crystal mirror, shows 

Our human joy, and strife, and pain; 
And ghostly dreams, and passion's woes, 
The tide of failures, hates, and foes, 

Are softly figured there again. 
Do Thou, who pourest forth our days, 

With all their floods of life divine, 
Bestow thy Spirit's peaceful gaze, 
To still the surge those tumults raise, 

And make thy calm of being mine ! 



HYMN XIV. 



Eternal Mind ! Creation's Light and Lord ! 

Thou trainest man to love thy perfect will, 
By love to know thy truth's obscurest word, 

And so his years with hallow'd life to fill ; 
To own in all things round thy law's accord, 

Which bids all hope be strong to vanquish ill ; 
Illumined thus by thy diffusive ray, 
The darken' d world and soul are bright with day. 

In storm, and flood, and all decays of time, 
In hunger, plagues, and man-devouring war ; 

In all the boundless tracts of inward crime — 
In selfish hates, and lusts that deepliest mar, 

In lazy dreams that clog each task sublime, 
In loveless doubts of truth's unsetting star ; 

In all — thy Spirit will not cease to brood 

With vital strength, unfolding all to good. 

The headlong cataract and tempest's roar, 

The rage of seas, and earthquake's hoarse dismay, 

The crush of empire, sapp'd by tears and gore, 
And shrieks of hearts their own corruption's prey — 

All sounds of death enforce thy righteous lore, 
In smoothest flow thy being's truth obey, 

And heard in ears from passion's witchery free, 

One endless music make — a hymn to Thee ! 

But most, O God ! the inward eyes of thought 
Discern thy laws in all that works within ; 

The conscious will, by hard experience taught, 
Divines thy mercy shown by hate of sin ; 



HYMNS OF A HERMIT. 157 

And hearts whose peace by shame and grief was 
bought, 
Thy blessings praise, that first in wo begin, 
For still on earthly pain's tormented ground 
Thy love's immortal flowers and fruits abound. 

Fair sight it is, and med'cinal for man, 
To see thy guidance lead the human breast ; 

In life's unopen'd germs behold thy plan, 
Till "mid the ripen'd soul it stands confest; 

From impulse too minute for us to scan, 

Awakening sense with love and purpose blest; 

And through confusion, error, trial, grief, 

Maturing reason, conscience, calm belief. 

This to have known, my soul be thankful thou ! — 
This clear, ideal form of endless good, 

Which casts around the adoring learner's brow 
The ray that marks man's holiest brotherhood : 

Thus even from guilt's deep curse and slavish vow, 
And dreams whereby the light was long withstood, 

Thee, Lord ! whose mind is rule supreme to all, 

Unveil'd we see, and hail thy wisdom's call. 



13 



HYMN XV. 



When up to nightly skies we gaze, 
Where stars pursue their endless ways. 
We think we see from earth's low clod 
The wide and shining home of God. 

But could we rise to moon or sun, 
Or path where planets duly run, 
Still heaven would spread above us far, 
And earth remote would seem a star. 

'Tis vain to dream those tracts of space, 
With all their worlds approach his face : 
One glory fills each wheeling ball — 
One love has shaped and moved them all. 

This earth, with all its dust and tears, 
Is his no less than yonder spheres ; 
And rain-drops weak, and grains of sand, 
Are stamp'd by his immediate hand. 

The rock, the wave, the little flower, 
All fed by streams of living power 
That spring from one Almighty will, 
Whate'er his thought conceives, fulfil. 

And is this all that man can claim ? 
Is this our longing's final aim ? 
To be like all things round — no more 
Than pebbles cast on Time's gray shore ? 

Can man, no more than beast, aspire 
To know his being's awful Sire ? 
And, born and lost on Nature's breast, 
No blessing seek but there to rest ? 



HYMNS OF A HERMIT. 159 

Not this our doom, thou God benign ! 
Whose rays on us unclouded shine : 
Thy breath sustains yon fiery dome ; 
But man is most thy favour* d home. 

We view those halls of painted air, 
And own thy presence makes them fair ; 
But dearer still to thee, O Lord ! 
Is he whose thoughts to thine accord. 



HYMN XVI. 



The shapes of earth are passing still away, 
The seas with sullen rage their bounds devour, 

The rivers waste their banks from day to day, 
Rocks cannot last, nor stars outlive their hour. 

The gnarled trees, of deep undated root, 

While ages o'er them pass, lik e herbage fall; 

And peaks that bear to-day the wild goat's foot 
To-morrow vanish "mid the torrent's brawl. 

Not long the building tells its founder's name, 
And loud-sung trophies fade in silent rust ; 
The desert sand-heap whelms the city's fame, 
The book is journeying tow'rd its writer's dust. 

Each generation yields in turn to death 
Its living forms and looks, beloved and bold ; 

And lost in pale destruction's frozen breath, 
Our vital air is changed to pulseless cold. 

Decay and desolation's thunderous cloud 

O'er all things hangs, and dims the summer sky ; 

And all that seems imperishably proud, 

Still, downward sinking slow, consents to die. 

While all so totters, wheels, and floats from view, 
Whate'er the eye can mark, the hand contrive ; 

Thy word, O God ! alone on earth is true, 
And dares, mid boundless ruin still survive. 

The utterance keen of thine eternal will 
Went forth at first through nothingness and gloom ; 

Through depths of ages working onward still, 
It crowns with life each -world's successive tomb. 



HYMNS OF A HERMIT, 161 

From thee it flows creating time and space ; 

With suns and planets fills the dark abysm; 
And spreads the light that veils thy changeless face, 

Refracted wide through Nature's varying prism. 

That living Word sustains the sand, the flower, 
The insect swarm, the brood of giant things ; 

Combines the whole by one harmonious power, 
And loud in conscious hearts thy glory sings. 

Yet weighs on all the eclipse and curse of ill, 
Of failing good, and hopes that lull no more; 

And ever}' leaf that sails the autumnal rill 
Its dying sister leaves with sighs deplore. 

The mountains darken o'er the shatter'd plain, 
When earthquakes smites the town that sways a 
realm ; 

The stars new-born lament the stars that wane, 
And seas wail hoarse above the fleet they whelm. 

And man, whose hopes his bound the most exceed, 
The loftiest mourner 'mid the griefs of all, 

Must shade his front with sad sepulchral weed, 
And wear for kingly robes, the funeral pall. 

Amid such endless change and storms of night 
Still moves thy Word divine, educing day, 

But thwarted, elogg'd, repell'd, by flashes bright, 
And winning hardest conquests o'er decay. 

But still in One, whose soul, aloof from wrong, 
Was fill'd with earnest unpolluted good, 

Resounds thy voice an undiscordant song, 
And tells thy will as at the first it stood. 

Thy word fulfill' d was He, for ever shown 

To man the living Archetype of Life, 
In whose embodied light our spirits own 

A certain hope — a rest secure from strife. 
13* 



162 HYMNS OF A HERMJT, 

And ne'er from mortal thought shall pass away 
The form of truth and peace he gave to earth ; 

In whom our hearts with love thy rule obey, 
And gain from them a second, happier birth. 

Without that light, though fair the frame of things, 
How dark the shades of grief it all would wear ! 

From it through death immortal being springs, 
And all thy presence dawns upon despair. 



HYMN XVII. 



Within its hollow nook of rocks and trees 

The lake in silence lies, 
Untouch'd by gust of autumn's changeful breeze, 

Which sweep the distant skies. 

It upward looks,, with still and glassy face, 

And sees the windy rack, 
Which o'er the surface idly seems to trace 

White clouds and shadows black . 

So dwells the wiser heart, at ease and safe, 

And marks the passing storm, 
Which cannot there the tranquil being chafe, 

Nor that bright peace deform. 

The tongue of busy rumour, vain and loud, 

And cold malignant hate, 
And dreams obscure, that cheat the greedy crowd, 

And full-blown scom sedate ! 

High-sated wealth , decorous pride of place, 

Mankind's anarchal kings ; 
And Science, blindly wrapping round its face 

The veil it draws from things ; 

The spectres thin that haunt the lifeless breast, 

And are not what they seem — 
Lust, follies, envies, avarice, unrest, 

That act earth's tragic dream ; — 

All these around the soul resolved and sure, 

A train of hunters throng, 
With unbelieving threats and mocks impure, 

And self -bewitching song. 



164 HYMNS OF A HERMIT. 

A moment's rush is theirs to seize their prey, 

Which shrinks perhaps aghast ; 
But nerved again by faith, it stands at bay, 

And, lo ! the rout is past. 

But shades they were, and melt around in shade, 

In him no place they own, 
Who, looking clear through all things undismay'd, 

In all sees God alone. 

An instant lingering on the nightly wold, 

"Mid rocks of mournful brows, 
Whlie sweeps the howling gale from caverns cold, 

And wave the leaveless boughs ; 

With dread the man beholds the shadows drear, 

That ape a demon train — 
Before a glance of thought the view is clear, 

And earth is stilled again. 

So thou, O God ! to man's weak darkness known, 

A light sustain' d by gloom, 
Wilt make thy steadfast will to good my own, 

And lead me through the tomb ! 



HYMN XVIII. 



Can man, O God! the tale of man repeat, 
Nor feel his bosom heave with livelier bound ? 

Through all we are the swelling pulse must beat 
At thought of all we are, of all things round : 

Our inmost selves the straining vision meet, 

And memory wakes from slumber's cave profound : 

And, like a rock upon a sunny plain, 

The past amid thy light is seen again, 

Ah ! little sphere of rosy childhood's hour, 
Itself so weak, and yet foreshowing all ! 

Unopen'd world of self- evolving power, 
That now but hears the instant's tiny call ! 

Within its dewdrop life, its folded flower, 
Distress and strife the thoughtless heart enthrall; 

And stirrings big with man's unmeasured hope 

Have scarcely strength against one pang to cope, 

Bewildering, cloudy dawn ! then pass from view 
The first faint lines of mortal being's course ; 

Then wakes the will, and fiercely grasps a clue, 
And wond'ring feels it snapped by headlong force, 

And sad and weeping grows a child anew, 

Till joy comes back from life's unfailing source — - 

New aims, new thoughts, new passions take their turn, 

And still the extinguished flame again will burn. 

What gropings blind to leave the common way ! 

What yearnings vain that find no end reveal'd ! 
What hopeless war, and feeling's idle play ! 
What wounds that pierce through pride's phantas- 
mal play? — 



166 HYMNS OF A HERMIT. 

A thousand objects woo'd and thrown away ! 
And idols dear that no response will yield ! 
And so within one bosom's living cell 
A fiendish foe and helpless victim dwell. 

Oh, gorgeous dreams, and wing-borne flight of youth ! 

That thinks by scorning earth to win the skies ; 
Forebodings dim of visionary truth, 

That like a beast pursued before us flies; 
Insane delight in monstrous forms uncouth, 

Thatthence perchance some prophet ghost may rise ; 
Blind love of light, and craving hate of rest ! — 
How far our strangest world is in the breast ! 

Abounding pictures, bright with morn and joy, 
Of all the endless beings round us known, 

Bewilder, vex, intoxicate, and cloy, — 
A land of bliss how near, yet not our own ! 

All things so fair each sense they needs employ, 
Yet 'mid them all the spirit wastes alone ; 

So many, lovely, large, and sweet they seem. 

As if to prove the whole is only dream. 

Fair visions all ! and, 'mid the train of things, 

How strong the sway the fairest shapes have won ! 

From them distraction, folly, rapture, springs, 
And life's true rapture seems but now begun, 

For mad we seek the joy that passion brings 
To hearts by inmost treacheries all undone, 

Though love's concealing veil is dark and stern, 

Nor e'er did eyes profane its mystery learn. 

So forward roll the years with wo and bliss, 
'Mid act, and deed, and thought, and lone despair ; 

And, 'twixt the arduous That and easy This, 
We feign the trial more than man can bear. 



HYMNS OF A HERMIT. 167 

Still Conscience stabs and bleeds; Temptation's kiss 

Still sucks our purest life, and taints the air ; 
His feet with blood, his own and others', red 
Ambition climbs the unstable mountain-head. 

But sick'ning hours and weariness of breath 
And eyes that cannot brook to see the day, 

And dreams that shuddering hail the name of death, 
And fancies thin subdued by dull decay, — 

All these, O God ! thy servant Conscience saith, 
Are surely sent by Thee — thy word obey ; 

The world of man so bright, and soul so strong, 

To man are shown defaced by human wrong. 

And thus, by inward act and outward led, 

We know the things we are if loosed from thee ; 

How blind as rocks, and weak as branches dead, 
And vain and fierce, to show us nobly free, 

To leave thy paths in desert wilds we fled, 
And hoped no longer thine — our own to be ; 

So sinking down from fancied all to naught, 

One grain of dust was left by misery taught. 

That speck, O Father ? still to thee was dear — 

A living relic capable of good ; 
And bruised and crush* d by wo, and shame, and fear, 

Arose again from earth, and upright stood. 
Thy Spirit still was there, not now severe, 

And fed the yearning heart with loving food, 
Till brave and clear, discerning all the past, 
It knew that peace and hope were gain'd at last. 

Now all confusion spent, and battles o'er, 
Are seen as leading on to endless rest, 

The world obscure and distant now no more, 
With sights of truthful gladness fills the breast; 



168 HYMNS OF A HERMIT, 

And love, so false and foul a name before, ^ 

With countless joys the wounded heart has folesj ; 
And thus, O God ! thy child serene and bold, 
Goes forth to toils heroic manifoldi 



OTHO III. 



Upon a couch of golden woof 

In royal hall, King Otho lay ; 
Red banners hung along the roof 

Spoke loud of war and battle-day. 

His long bright hair fell idly down 

Above a cheek of pallid hue ; 
Though neaHiim lay the imperial crown, 

No glance of his faint eyes it drew. 

For he was sick, and cold, and weak, 
Nor e'en the thought of Rome subdued 

Could clear the rust that stained his cheek, 
Or soothe his dark distempered mood. 

In stepped to him a hoary lord — 

" My Liege ! that mocking tale again 

A stranger brings, with boastful word 
Assevering she can heal thy pain." 

"Now gold be hers, and thanks, and praise! 

For men by scores have come to me, 
And said that they would ease my days, 

And set my laboring spirit free. 
14 



170 OTHO III. 

Still here I lie. But never yet 
A woman's art to soothe me cams. 

E'en now my pangs I half forget — 
But say what aspect bears the dame?" 

"My Liege ! I wot her form is tall, 
And dark and wide the cloak she wears ; 

Her speech with finely cadenced fall 
A noble Roman's birth declares." 

" Nay, let her in, and wait without; 

To Rome's fierce men some hate I bore ; 
But even them 'twere dream to doubt, 

Since now Crescentius lives no more." 

In walked the leech in humble guise, 

With cloak, and hood that veiled her brow : 

Upon the King she cast her eyes, 

Who said — "Fair dame, what seekest thou?" 

" O, King ! I know a medicine strong 

To heal the sting of mortal ill ; 
To thee of right its powers belong; 

To thee I bring my best of skill." 

"Not thus a leech unknown we trust; 

But I would fain behold thee more ; 
Thy speech assured in sound is just, 

And I would read thy features o'er, 

" In these the soul may oft be found ; 

Yet even now methinks thy voice 
Delights me with a lovely sound, 

And bids my flagging heart rejoice." 

The King upon his elbow leant, 

And opened fair his broad blue eyes; 

Her eyes' deep glow on his she bent, 
And cast away her dull disguise. 



OTHO III. 171 

Swift change and dazzling ! Bright was she 
With gold, and gems, and silk array, 

That seemed the fitting garb to be 
Of beauty's goodliest summer day. 

The pearls amid her darkest hair 

Adorned a brow of queenly span, 
And hers were cheeks and mouth so fair 

They lured away the will of man. 

The rubies floating o'er her breast 

Drew warmth and love from where they lay ; 

There vague delight was wooed to rest, 
And felt it death from thence to stray. 

Up sprang the King, and wondering gazed ; 

He ne'er had looked on aught so bright ; 
His eyes, his lips with joy amazed, 

Were drinking beauty's air and light. 

" O ! more than health and more than ease, 
Thou giv'st me, lady, strength divine ; 

The draught thou bringest let me seize, 
And make thy maddest philtres mine." 

With downward smile, and shifting glance, 
Her soft white hand from his she drew ; 

She filled a cup with wine of France, 
And in with it her spicery threw. 

" Drink first, my Liege, this potent draught 
To heal whate'er thou hast of pain." 

With eager mouth her cup he quaffed, 
As if her kisses' depth to drain. 

"Ha! this in truth is royal wine ! 

Thy breath, methinks, is in the bowl. 
What earthly clogs can now confine 

The strength that fills my limbs, my soul? 



172 OTHO III. 

" I seem on wings aloft to rise, 
And float o'er fading land and sea ; 

And yet I would not climb the skies 
To rule the stars, if torn from thee. 

" Thou turn'st away. At least a while 
Come sit, enchantress, near my side. 

*Tis much if but to see thee smile, 
And hear thy lips' low music glide. 

" And ah ! thou loveliest, now indeed, 
While thus thy hand is locked in mine, 

While on thy face my looks may feed, 1 
Thou hast a potion more than wine." 

" My Liege, the health my drugs can give, 
Will thus depart as soon as won. 

An hour in throbless quiet live, 
And then for thee my task is done. 

" And we will speak of simpler things 
Than those deep moods that love inspires; 

But say, if ease my medicine brings, 
Or fills thy brain with restless fires ?" 

"O ! all within is calm and bliss ; 

My pulses bound like stags at play. 
Yet once I knew a joy like this, 

When first Crescentius owned my sway. 

" I made him leave his gaurded tower 
By specious words of sage deceit ; 

Soon Rome was taught her emperor- s power; 
Soon lay his corpse before my feet." 

" And dost thou still, O King ! rejoice 
To think how then the Roman died* 

Who trusting thine imperial voice* 
For life, for all on thee relied? 



otho in. 173 

" 'Twas said, but sooth it cannot be, 
That Otho's lips unfaltering swore, 

The Roman state should still be free, 
Its Consul ne'er be perilled more." 

% ' By Peter ! truly thus they say ; 

The lithe Italian subtly thought 
Our German wit could never play 

With arms by Latin cunning wrought. 

" Thou needs must praise the shrewd device 
That wiled him down from Hadrian's Mole. 

The Pope absolved me at the price 
Of fifty masses for his soul. 

"Not soon shall Rome of freedom speak, 
And scorn our distant German crown ; 

But tell me why I feel so weak, 

Or why thy beauty wears a frown ?" 

" Full soon thy weakness, King ! will end, 
And frowns are idle clouds to life ; 

But say, thou flattering amorous friend, 
Did slain Crescentius leave a wife i" 

" The slave deserved not woman's smile, 
His wife, be sure, was naught to me ; 

I let my squires their toil beguile 
With favours due from such as she. 

" Why glar'st thou thus with horrid eyes ? 

Nay, woman, would'st thou strike a king ! 
I cannot speak — my shout but sighs — 

Help — help — O ! snakes my bosom wring." 

" So, perish, tyrant ! know that I 

Am wife to him so basely slain ; 
To me 'twas only left to die — 

To die a wretch, but not in vain. 
14* 



174 OTHO lit, 

" Thou canst not speak, but 'mid thy pang 
I still can pierce thy freezing ear ; 

Though loud the emperor's triumph rang, 
My husband's ghost is monarch here. 

" O God ! who bring'st to guilty souls, 
By their own hands, the vengeance due ; 

Thy thunder now above me rolls, 
And hails the deed, not bids me rue. 

" The poison works, the brow is stamped, 
The hard eye stares, the jaw drops down ; 

Pale corpse, my spirit too is damped, 
And faints before thy lifeless frown. 

" And yet a righteous deed is done, 
And I shake off that weariest load; 

The thought of vengeance due to one 
Who taught me Hate's unblissful road. 

"Corroding Grief and maddening Shame 
Are still the fiends that urge my life ; 

But 'twill not blot Crescentius' fame, 
If men record his hapless wife. 

" Lie still, thou heap that wert a King, 
And yield thy signet gem to me ; 

My fixed resolve, and Otho's ring, 
Will soon have set the murderess free, 

" But free to what ? to pass her days 

In some dark cell of cloistered wo : 
To hate the gladdening sunshine's rays, 

And long for death's releasing blow. 
" My Lords ! the King for some two hours 

Will rest, and all without may wait ; 
This royal token shows my powers 

To pass at will through guards and gate," 



ALFRED THE HARPER. 



Dark fell the night, the watch was set, 

The host was idly spread, 
The Danes around their watchfires met, 

Caroused, and fiercely fed. 
They feasted all on English food, 

And quaffed the English ale ; 
Their hearts leapt up with burning blood 

At each old Norseman tale. 

The chiefs beneath a tent of leaves, 

And Guthrum, king of all, 
Devoured the flesh of England's beeves, 

And laughed at England's fall. 
Each warrior proud, each Danish earl, 

In mail and wolf-skin clad, 
Their bracelets white with plundered pearl, 

Their eyes with triumph mad. 
A mace beside each king and lord 

Was seen, with blood bestained; 
From golden cups upon the board 

Their kindling wine they drained. 
Ne'er left their sad storm-beaten coast 

Sea-kings so hot for gore ; 
'Mid Selwood's oaks so dreadful host 

Ne'er burnt a track before. 



176 ALFRED THE HARPER. 

From Humber-land to Severn-land, 

And on to Tamar stream, 
Where Thames makes green the towery strand , 

Where Medway's waters gleam, — 
With hands of steel and mouths of flame 

They raged the kingdom through ; 
And where the Norseman sickle came, 

No crop but hunger grew. 

They loaded many an English horse 

With wealth of cities fair ; 
They dragged from many a father's corse 

The daughter by her hair. 
And English slaves, and gems and gold, 

Were gathered round the feast ; 
Till midnight in their woodland hold, 

Oh ! never that riot ceased. 

In stalked a warrior tall and rude 

Before the strong sea-kings; 
" Ye Lords and Earls of Odin's brood, 

Without a harper sings. 
He seems a simple man and poor, 

But well he sounds the lay, 
And well, ye Norseman chiefs, be sure, 

Will ye the song repay." 

In trod the bard with keen cold look, 

And glanced along the board, 
That with the shout and war-cry shook, 

Of many a Danish lord. 
But thirty brows, inflamed and stern, 

Soon bent on him their gaze, 
While calm he gazed, as if to learn 

Who chief deserved his praise- 



ALFRED THE HARPER. 177 

Loud Guthrum spake,—" Nay, gaze not thus 

Thou Harper weak and poor ! 
By Thor ! who bandy looks with us 

Must worse than looks endure. 
Sing high the praise of Denmark's host, 

High praise each dauntless Earl ; 
The brave who stun this English coast 

With war's unceasing whirl." 

The Harper sat upon a block, 

Heaped up with wealthy spoil, 
The wool of England's helpless flock, 

Whose blood had stained the soil. 
He sat and slowly bent his head, 

And touched aloud the string ; 
Then raised his face, and boldly said, 

" Hear thou my lay, O King ! 

u High praise from all whose gift is song 

To him in slaughter tried, 
Whose pulses beat in battle strong, 

As if to meet his bride. 
High praisd from every mouth of man 

To all who boldly strive, 
Who fall where first the fight began, 

And ne'er go back alive. 

" But chief his fame be quick as fire, 

Be wide as is the sea, 
Who dares in blood and pangs expire, 

To keep his country free. 
To such, great Earls, and mighty King \ 

Shall praise in heaven belong; 
The starry harps their praise shall ring, 

And chime to mortal song. 



178 ALFRED THE HARPER. 

" Fill high your cups, and swell the shout, 

At famous Regnar's name ! 
Who sank his host in bloody rout, 

When he to Humber came. 
His men were chased, his sons were slain, 

And he was left alone. 
They bound him in an iron chain 

Upon a dungeon stone. 

" With iron links they bound him fast ; 

With snakes they filled the hole, 
That made his flesh their long repast, 

And bit into his soul. 
The brood with many a poisonous fang 

The warrior's heart beset • 
While still he cursed his foes, and sans 

His fierce but hopeless threat. 

" Great chiefs, why sink in gloom your eyes ? 

Why champ your teeth in pain i 
Still lives the song though Regnar dies ! 

Fill high your cups again. 
Ye too, perchance, O Norsemen lords ! 

Who fought and swayed so long, 
Shall soon but live in minstrel words, 

And owe your names to song. 

"This land has graves by thousands more 

Than that where Regnar lies. 
When conquests fade, and rule is o^er, 

The sod must close your eyes. 
How soon, who knows ? Not chief, nor bard ; 

And yet to me 'tis given, 
To see your foreheads deeply scarred 

And guess the doom of Heaven. 



ALFRED THE HARPER. 179 

" I may not read or when or how, 

But Earls and Kings, be sure 
I see a blade o'er every brow, 

Where pride now sits secure. 
Fill high the cups, raise loud the strain ! 

When chief and monarch fall, 
Their names in song shall breathe again, 

And thrill the feastful hall. 

M Like God's own voice, in after years 

Resounds the warrior's fame, 
Whose deed his hopeless country cheers, 

Who is its noblest name. 
Drain down, O Chiefs ! the gladdening bowl ! 

The present hour is yours ; 
Let death to-morrow take the soul, 

If joy to-day endures. " 

Grim sat the chiefs ; one heaved a groan, 

And one grew pale with dread, 
His iron mace was grasped by one, 

By one his wine was shed. 
And Guthrum cried, " Nay, bard, no more 

We hear thy boding lay; 
Make drunk the song with spoil and gore; 

Light up the joyous fray ! " 

1 'Quick throbs my brain " — so burst the song — 

" To hear the strife once more. 
The mace, the axe, they rest too long ; 

Earth cries my thirst is sore. 
More blithely twang the strings of bows 

Than strings of harps in glee ; 
Red wounds are lovelier than the rose, 

Or rosy Lips to me. 



180 ALFRED THE HARPER. 

"Oh ! fairer than a field of flowers, 

When flowers in England grew, 
Would be the battle's marshalled powers. 

The plain of carnage new. 
With all its deaths before my soul 

The vision rises fair ; 
Raise loud the song, and drain the bowl ! 

I would that I were there ! 

" Tis sweet to live in honoured might, 

With true and fearless hand ; 
'Tis sweet to fall in freedom's fight, 

Nor shrink before the brand. 
But sweeter far, when girt by foes, 

Unmoved to meet their frown, 
And count with cheerful thought the woes 

That soon shall dash them down." 

Loud rang the harp, the minstrel's eye 

Rolled fiercely round the throng ; 
It seemed two crashing hosts were nigh, 

Whose shock arouse T Jie song, 
A golden cup King Guthrum gave 

To him who strongly played ; 
ilnd said/ 'I won it from the slave 

Who once o'er England swayed." 

King Guthrum cried, "'Twas Alfred's own; 

Thy song befits the brave ; 
The King who cannot guard his throne 

Nor wine nor song shall have." 
The minstrel took the goblet bright, 

And said, " I drink the wine 
To him who owns by justest right 

The cup thou bid'st be mine. 



ALFRED THE HARPER. 181 

M To him your Lord, Oh shout ye all ! 

His meed be deathless praise ! 
The King who dares not nobly fall, 

Dies basely all his days. 
The King who dares not guard his throne, 

May curses heap his head; 
But hope and strength, be all his own 

Whose blood is bravely shed." 

"The praise thou speakest," Guthrumsaid, 

" With sweetness fills mine ear ; 
For Alfred swift before me fled, 

And left me monarch here. 
The royal coward never dared 

Beneath mine eye to stand. 
Oh, would that now this feast he shared, 

And saw me rule his land !" 

Then stern the minstrel rose, and spake, 

And gazed upon the King, — 
"Not now the golden cup I take, 

Nor more to tL ba I sing. 
iVnother day, a happier hour, 

Shall bring me here again, 
The cup shall stay in Guthrum's power 

Till I demand it then/' 

The Harper turned and left the shed, 

Nor bent to Guthrum's crown; 
And one who marked his visage said 

It wore a ghastly frown. 
The Danes ne'er saw that Harper mo e^ 

For soon as morning rose, 
Upon their camp King Alfred bore, 

And slew ten thousand foes. 
■ 15 



LADY JANE GREY. 



There is an old and costly room of state, 

With roof deep-groined of blazoned shields and 
flowers, 
And arras rich with gold and silver weight, 
Hangs round the walls, and shows green forest 
bowers. 

And figures blent of giant, dwarf, and knight, 

Of lady fair, and palfrey, hawk and hound, 
Amid those leafy cells the gaze invite, 

Invite yet mock, for leaves half close them round. 
In order set are works of regal price, 

Quaint carven chair and table, chest and lute ; 
And web of scarlet, black, and gold device, 

Spread o'er the floor makes every footstep mute, 

The windows' shafts and loops of branching stone 
Are gemmed with panes of each imperial hue, 

Where saint and angel from the stars new flown, 
With streams of crystal splendor flood the view. 

They fall with fondest brightness o'er the form 
Of her who sits the chamber's lovely dame, 

And her pale forehead in the light looks warm, 
And all those colours round her whiteness flame. 



LADY JANE GREY. 183 

Young is she, scarcely past from childhood's years, 
With grave soft face, where thoughts and smiles 
may play, 

And unalarmed by guilty aims or fears, 

Serene as meadow-flowers may meet the day. 

No guilty pang she knows, though many a dread 
Hangs threatening o'er her in the conscious air, 

And 'mid the beams from that bright casement shed, 
A twinkling crown foreshows a near despair. 

But Jane regards not auguries of ill, 
Nor ev'n that sovran vision draws her eyes, 

Which bent in contemplation smooth and still 
Drink dews that make the heart devoutly wise. 

She reads in Plato's page, and sphered with him 

Sees dark Hymettus, sees Ilissus flow ; 
Through many an age's shadow broad and dim, 

Lives back to where Athena's olives grow. 
With marble stems whose summits leaves enwreathe, 

The light and sculptured colonnade is there ; 
*In silent forms the gods and heroes breathe, 

And awe with tranquil eyes the empurpled air. 

Before her spread the azure Grecian seas, 
The city's towers and temples rise around, 

And columned halls are blent with arching trees, 
Where sages musing pace the sacred ground, 

And there with look as silver pure and bright, 
And calm, and clear, like some deep ocean bay, 

Her cherished teacher walks in evening light, 
With steps that mark his soul's unruffled sway. 

With him she lives, and meditates, and loves, 
And learns how nature, building up the mind, 

Prepares the faith which wisdom best approves, 
In One the immortal friend of mortal kind ; 



184 LADY JANE GREY. 

To whom all being tends, from whom proceeds, 
Who is the only Source and Law of Good, 

Benignant arbiter of earthly needs, 

Felt, owned, revered, divined, not understood; 

Who imaged in a thousand gods for man. 
And on ten thousand living things impressed, 

Himself is hid where none his light may scan, 
Yet ever present warms the longing breast ; 

A sun to which 'tis hard our eyes to raise ! 

Though shining round, it pours each beam of day, 
In every drop lights up a mirrored blaze, 

And lends each blade of grass a kindred ray ; 

Encircling Spirit known to human thought, 

By Reason watching o'er its own domain, 
By Truth severe to brooding Conscience taught, 

By Aims which time would strive to bound in vain- 
Such flight of soul was hers, and thus she rose 

Above the mist and turmoil thickening round, 
Breathed purer air that o'er Cephisus blows, 

And culled the wreaths that on its banks abound. 

Not long she knew this quiet. Loud the shout 
Of tumult thickning on in heavy strain; 

And murmured, roared, and echoed all about, 

Breaks forth the dizzy cry, Long live Queen Jane ! 

Back falls the Chamber door; and lo! a crowd 
Of Judge, and counseller, prelate, knight and peer; 

Swords, plumes, and jewels, fronts with victory proud, 
And snow-white heads are bent her will to hear. 

Some tears she sheds, she trembles, turns away, 
Then yields her presence at her sire's command, 

The volume falls abandoned where it lay 
A moment past in her attentive hand. 



LADY JANE GREY. 185 

The Queen, in robes of state and royal halls, 

Glides trembling back with memory's swift career, 

With inward voice upon the past she calls, 
And wondering feels that she must learn to fear. 

She thinks, — " O ! Teacher, gentle, vast, sublime, 
Strange lesson this for one upheld by thee ; 

But thou hast help for man's most adverse time, 
And in worst bondage aidest to be free. 

" Yet while Hook within me wisdom fails, 
I seem all dark and weak, an erring child, 

When most I need it least thy lore avails, 
And Truth's pure brightness shows me all defiled." 

Low drooped her brow, when trembling through the air 

A sweet-voiced hymn was gently borne along; 
Perhaps an angel's music warbled there, 

Or human echoes of angelic song. 
So soft, so full, so thrilling deep it spake, 

It won the soul in seraph bliss to die, j 
And seemed at once her inward thirst to slake, 

With joy, of heaven and tears of Calvary. 

She felt her life a trembling, earthly spark, 
Was mounting up to shine a star above, 

And lucid thoughts came rippling through the dark, 
In one mild flow of Faith, and Hope, and Love. 

" Methinks, O! Sage a nobler lore than thine, 
More steadfast comfort gives and holier peace ; 

And I am fed by wisdom more divine 

Than e'er inspired melodious tongues of Greece. 

" On other shores, beneath more eastern skies, 
Thy faith was once proclaimed from age to age, 

Not sealed a treasure for the proudly wise, 
But spread a people's common heritage ; 
15* 



186 LADY JANE GREY. 

" In saint and prophet burnt with keener flame 
Than e'er illumed thy gracious soul's delight; 

In children's words, in songs of ancient fame 
Was known, ennobled many a festal rite, 

•'And all that Athens breathed of high and true, 
With soaring thought and finely moulded speech, 

In our dear Lord to Act and Being grew, 
Whose Life was more than words could ever teach. 

" A Heart that beat for every human wo, 
A Choice in holiest purpose pure and strong, 

A Truth, sole morning-Light of all below, 
A Love triumphant over deadliest wrong. 

u In Him thy God, O Plato, dwelt on earth, 
An open Presence, clear of earthly ill ; 

The Life which drew from him its heavenly birth, 
In all who seek renews his perfect Will. 

"So have we Sufferings, so a Trust like His, 
So large Repentance born with many a thro, 

So zeal untired to better all that is, 
And peace of spirit even here below. 

" Then be it mine the Cross with him to bear, 
And leave the flowery shades of Academe; 

With him go mourning through the infected air 
Of grief and sin, and drink his bitter stream. 

" So clearness, meekness, and unfaltering might, 
Ungained, though bravely sought, O ! sage, by thee, 

Shall be my starry chaplet in the night, 

And in the coming dawn my crown shall be." 

Quick changed the darkening hour; the reign was 
done ; 

The princely crowds were shrunk away or dead; 
The prison closed in gloom, and hid the sun; 

And sank in dust, the fair, the youthful head. 



LOUIS XV. 






The King with all his kingly tram 

Had left his Pompadour behind, 
And forth he rode in Senart's wood 

The royal beasts of chase to find. 
That day by chance the Monarch mused, 

And turning suddenly away, 
He struck alone into a path 

That far from crowds and courtiers lay. 

He saw the pale green shadows play 

Upon the brown untrodden earth ; 
He saw the birds around him flit 

As if he were of peasant birth; 
He saw the trees that know no king 

But him who bears a woodland axe; 
He thought not, but he looked about 

Like one who skill in thinking lacks. 

Then close to him a footstep fell, 
And glad of human sound was he, 

For truth to say he found himself 
A weight from which he fain would flee. 



188 louis xv. 

But that which he would ne'er have guessed 
Before him now most plainly came ; 

The man upon his weary back 
A coffin bore of rudest frame. 

" Why, who art thou?" exclaimed the King, 

" And what is that I see thee bear?" 
"lama laborer in the wood, 

And 'tis a coffin for Pierre. 
Close by the royal hunting-lodge 

You may have often seen him toil; 
But he will never work again, 

And I for him must dig the soil. 

The laborer ne'er had seen the King, 

And this he thought was but a man, 
Who made at first a moment's pause, 

And then anew his talk began : 
" I think I do remember now, — 

He had a dark and glancing eye, 
And I have seen his slender arm 

With wondrous blows the pick-axe ply. 

" Pray tell me friend, what accident 

Can thus have killed our good Pierre ? 
*' Oh ! nothing more than usual, sir, 

He died of living upon air. 
Twas hunger killed the poor good man, 

Who long on empty hopes relied ; 
He could not pay gabell and tax, 

And feed his children, so he died.". 

The man stopped short, and then went on, — 
" It is you know, a common thing; 

Our children's bread is eaten up 

By Courtiers, Mistresses, and King." 



louis xv. 189 



The King looked hard upon the man, 
And afterwards the coffin eyed, 

Then spurred to ask of Pompadour, 
How came it that peasants died. 



SHAKSPEARE. 



How little fades from earth when sink to rest 
The hours and cares that moved a great man's breast! 
Though naught of all we saw the grave may spare 
His life pervades the world's impregnate air ; 
Though Shakspere's dust beneath our footsteps lies, 
His spirit breathes amid his native skies ; 
With meaning won from him for ever glows 
Each air that England feels, and star it knows; 
His whispered words from many a mother's voice 
Can make her sleeping child in dreams rejoice, 
And gleams from spheres he first conjoined to earth 
Are blent with rays of each new morning's birth, 
Amid the sights and tales of common things, 
Leaf, flower, and bird, and wars, and deaths of kings, 
Of shore, and sea, and nature's daily round, 
Of life that tills, and tombs that load the ground, 
His visions mingle, swell, command, pace by, 
And haunt with living presence heart and eye ; 
And tones from him by other bosoms c aught 
Awaken flush and stir of mounting thought, 
And the long sigh, and deep impassioned thrill, 
Rouse custom's trance, and spur the faltering will. 



SHAKSPERE. 191 

Above the goodly land more his than ours 
He sits supreme enthroned in skyey towers, 
And sees the heroic brood of his creation 
Teach larger life to his ennobled nation, 
O ! shaping brain, O ! flashing fancy's hues! 
O ! boundless heart kept fresh by pity's dews ! 
O ! wit humane and blythe ! O sense sublime 
For each dim oracle of mantled Time ! 
Transcendant Form of Man ! in whom we read 
Mankind's whole tale of Impulse, Thought, and Deed ; 
Amid the expanse of years beholding thee 
We know how vast our world of life may be ; 
Wherein, perchance, with aims as pure as thine, 
Small tasks and strengths may be no less divine. 



COLERIDGE. 



Like some full tree that bends with fruit and leaves, 
While gentle wind a quivering descant weaves, 
He met the gaze ; with sibyl eyes, and brow 
By age snow-clad, yet bright with summer's glow; 
His cheek was youthful, and his features played 
Like lights and shadows in a flowery glade. 
Around him flowed with many a varied fall 
And depth of voice "mid smiles most musical, 
Words like the Seraph's when in Paradise 
He vainly strove to make his hearers wise. 
In sore disease I saw him laid, — a shrine 
Half-ruined, and all tottering, still divine. 
'Mid broken arch and shattered cloister hung 
The ivy's green, and wreaths of blossom clung; 
Through mingling vine and bay the sunshine fell 
Or winds and moonbeams sported round the cell; 
But o'er the altar burnt that heavenly flame 
Whose life no damps of earth availed to tame. 
And there have I swift hours a watcher been, 
Heard mystic spells, and sights prophetic seen, 
Till all beyond appeared a vast Inane, 
Yet all with deeper life revived again ; 



COLERIDGE. 193 

And Nature woke in Wisdom's light, and grew 
Instinct with lore that else she never knew, 
Expanding spirits filled her countless forms, 
And Truth beamed calmly through chaotic storms, 
Till shapes, hues, symbols, felt the wizard's rod, 
And while they sank in silence there was God. 
O ! Heart that like a fount with freshness ran, 
O ! Thought beyond the stature given to man, 
Although thy page had blots on many a line, 
Yet Faith remedial made the tale divine. 
With all the poet's fusing, kindling blaze, 
And sage's skill to thread each tangled maze, 
Thy fair expressive image meets the view, 
Bearing the sunlike torch, and subtle clew; 
Yet more than these for thee the Christian's crown 
By Faith and Peace outvalued all renown. 
This wearing, enter yon supernal dome, 
And reach at last thy calm ideal home ! 
Enough for us to follow from afar, 
And joyous track thy clear emerging Star. 



16 



MIRABEAU. 






Not oft has peopled Earth sent up 

So deep and wide a groan before, 
As when the word astounded France 

— " The life of Mirabeau is o'er!" 
From its one heart a nation wailed, 

For well the startled sense divined 
A greater power had fled away 

Than aught that now remained behind. 

The scathed and haggard face of will, 

And look so strong with weaponed thought, 
Had been to many million hearts 

The All between themselves and naught ; 
And so they stood aghast and pale, 

As if to see the azure sky 
Come shattering down, and show beyond 

The black and bare Infinity. 

For he, while all men trembling peered 

Upon the Future's empty space, 
Had strength to bid above the void" 

The oracle unveil its face ; 
And when his voice could rule no more, 

A thicker weight of darkness fell, 
And tombed in its sepulchral vault 

The wearied master of the spell. 



M1RABEAU. 195 

A myriad hands like[shadows weak, 

Or stiff and sharp as bestial claws, 
Had sought to steer the fluctuant mass 

That bore his country's life and laws ; 
The rudder felt his giant hand, 

And quailed beneath the living grasp 
That now must drop the helm of Fate, 

Nor pleasure's cup can madly clasp. 

France did not reck how fierce a storm 

Of rending passion, blind and grim, 
Had ceased its audible uproar 

When death sank heavily on him ; 
Nor heeded they the countless days 

Of toiling smoke and blasting flame, 
That now by this one final hour 

Were summed for him as guilt and shame. 

The wondrous life that flowed so long 

A stream of all commixtures vile, 
Had seemed for them in morning light 

With gold and crystal waves to smile. 
It rolled with mighty breadth and sound 

A new creation through the land, 
Then sudden vanished into earth, 

And left a barren waste of sand. 

To them at first the world appeared 

Aground, and lying shipwrecked there, 
And freedom's folded flag no more 

With dazzling sun-burst filled the air ; 
But 'tis in after years for men 

A sadder and a greater thing, 
To muse upon the inward heart 

Of him who lived the People's King. 



196 MIRABEAU. 

O ! wasted strength ! O ! light and calm 

And better hopes so vainly given ! 
Like rain upon the herbless sea 

Poured down by too benignant heaven- 
We see not stars unfixed by winds, 

Or lost in aimless thunder-peals, 
But man's large soul, the star supreme, 

In guideless whirl how oft it reels ! 

The mountain hears the torrent dash, 

But rocks will not in billows run ; 
No eagle's talons rend away 

Those eyes that joyous drink the sun; 
Yet Man, by choice and purpose weak, 

Upon his own devoted head 
Calls down the flash, as if its fires 

A crown of peaceful glory shed. 

Alas ! — yet wherefore mourn? The law 

Is holier than a sage's prayer ; 
The godlike power bestowed on men 

Demands of them a godlike care; 
And noblest gifts, if basely used, 

Will sternliest avenge the wrong, 
And grind with slavish pangs the slave 

Whom once they made divinely strong. 

The lamp that, 'mid the sacred cell, 

On heavenly forms its glory sheds, 
Untended dies, and in the gloom 

A poisonous vapor glimmering spreads. 
It shines and flares, and reeling ghosts 

Enormous through the twilight swell, 
Till o'er the withered world and heart 

Rings loud and slow the dooming knell. 



MIRABEAU. 197 

No more I hear a nation's shout 

Around the hero's tread prevailing, 
No more I hear above his tomb 

A nation's fierce bewildered wailing; 
I stand amid the silent night, 

And think of man and all his wo, 
With fear and pity, grief and awe, 

When I remember Mirabeau. 



16* 



WELLINGTON. 

Ancient heroes, chiefs victorious, 
Long have these been hail'd sublime ; 

Say, hath Britian none as glorious 
For the tongues of future time ; 

Sullen years, and silence jealous, 
Darken many a famous brow ; 

Farthest ages shall be zealous 
Honouring him we honour now. 

And while human hearts shall cherish 
This our land's ennobled soil, 

His renown shall never perish 
Who redeemed it best from spoil. 

Language, Freedom, old Uprightness, 
All our fathers were, and won, 

All has gain'd its crowning brightness 
In the praise of Wellington. 

Who 'mid battles' booming thunder 
E'er with calmer might arose, 

Smiting down in helpless wonder 
Hosts that scorn'd all meaner foes ? 



WELLINGTON. 199 

When the gather' d East defied him ; 

Swarthy kings at far Assaye, 
Fewer those who fought beside him 

Than the dead that round them lay. 

But how wan that Indian story 

Fades before the loftier tale, 
When all Europe, pale and gory, 

All but England, seem'd to quail. 

Tagus, Douro, leaping shouted 

TowerM Busaco's crest of rock, 
When they saw their plunderers routed 

In the Britain's battle -shock. 

Haught Iberia's stately regions, 

States of laurell'd Romes command, 

Ye have seen Napoleon's legions 
Fly before the island band. 

But 'twas not alone the spirit 

Known so wide on shore and sea, 
Not the blood which we inherit, 

Could alone the nations free. 
'Twas the bright, unwavering Reason, 

One great soul's reflection sage, 
That undid the despot's treason, 

And befool'd his wildest rage. 
Thus with blood was Ebro darken' d, 

Storm'd Pyrene's cliffs of snow, 
Till their Paris, while it hearkn'd, 

Felt each coming step a blow. 

Graves would tell, with triumph gladden'd, 

If no living voice were true, 
How the lord of nations, madden'd, 

Found his doom at Waterloo. 



200 WELLINGTON. 

Still amid the whirl of terror, 

Smooth and strong as moves the sun, 

Clear from passion, sure from error, 
Sway'd the soul of Wellington. 

Him no huge adventurous raving, 
Him no storm of pride or wrath, 

Him no sordid hunger's craving, 
Turned aside from duty's path. 

Him 'mid warfare's dread commotion, 
Might the weak for safety trust; 

Him his patriot life's devotion 
Teaches all to name — the Just. 

He with simple mild sedateness 
All an empire's honours bears, 

Yet they leave his own pure greatness 
More than all the robes it wears. 

Round the mountain pine of ages 

Summer flowers may creep and twine, 

Till the strife that winter wages 
Cuts them down, but not the pine. 

Friend of Peace, of Truth and Order, 
Seeking right with steadfast mind, 

O'er his will a sleepless warder, 
Thus he firmly rules mankind. 

True to all, to all benignant, 
Bold against the rage of all, 

Well can he with voice indignant, 
Public fraud and crime appal. 

As a mole by seas assaulted, 

Breasts at once and calms the waves, 
So 'mid those from right revolted, 

He subdues the souls he braves. 



WELLINGTON. 201 

Britain, fair and stainless mother 

Of the Bold, the Just, the Wise, 
Seldom hast thou known another, 

Brighten thus thy fostering skies ! 

While so much is praised untruly, 
Scarce his fame can struggle forth ; 

Years to come shall reverence duly 
All the Man's unboastful worth. 



DAEDALUS. 



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Wail for Daedalus all that is fairest! 

All that is tuneful in air or wave ! 
Shapes whose beauty is truest and rarest, 

Haunt with your lamps and spells his grave ! 

Statues bend your heads in sorrow, 

Ye that glance 'mid ruins old, 
That know not a past, nor expect a morrow 

On many a moonlight Grecian wold ! 

By sculpture cave and speaking river, 
Thee, Daedalus, oft the Nymphs recall ; 

The leaves with a sound of winter quiver, 
Murmur thy name, and withering fall. 

Yet are thy visions in soul the grandest 
Of all that crowd on the tear-dimmed eye, 

Though Daedalus thou no more commandest 
New stars to that ever-widening sky. 

Ever thy phantoms arise before us, 
Our loftier brothers, but one in blood; 

By bed and table they lord it o'er us, 
With looks of beauty and words of Good. 



D^SDALUS. 203 

Calmly they show us mankind victorious 
O'er all that's aimless, blind, and base; 

Their presence has made our nature glorious, 
Unveiling our night's illumined face. 

Thy toil has won them a god-like quiet ; 

Thou hast wrought their path to a lovely sphere ; 
Their eyes to peace rebuke our riot, 

And shape us a home of refuge here. 

For Daedalus breathed in them his spirit; 

In them their sire his beauty sees : 
We too, a younger brood, inherit 

The gifts and blessing bestowed on these. 

But ah ! their wise and graceful seeming 
Recalls the more that the sage is gone ; 

Weeping we wake from deceitful dreaming, 
And find our voiceless chamber lone. 

Daedalus thou from the twilight fleest, 

Which thou with visions hast made so bright ; 

And when no more those shapes thou seest, 
Wanting thine eye they lose their light. 

E'en in the noblest of Man's creations, 
Those fresh worlds round this old of ours, 

When the seer is gone, the orphaned nations 
See but the tombs of perished powers. 

Wail for Daedalus Earth and Ocean ! 

Stars and Sun, lament for him! 
Ages quake in strange commotion ! 

All ye realms of Life be dim ! 

Wail for Daedalus, awful Voices, 

From earth's deep centre Mankind appal ! 
Seldom ye sound, and then Death rejoices, 
For he knows that then the mightiest fall. 



THE HUSBANDMAN. 

Earth, of man the bounteous mother, 
Feeds him still with corn and wine ; 

He who best would aid a brother, 
Shares with him these gifts divine. 

Many a power within her bosom 
Noiseless, hidden, works beneath; 

Hence are seed, and leaf, and blossom, 
Golden ear and clustered wreath. 

These to swell with strength and beauty, 

Is the royal task of man ; 
Man *s a king, his throne is Duty, 

Since his work on earth began. 

Bud and harvest, bloom and vintage, 
These, like man, are fruits of earth ; 

Stamped in clay, a heavenly mintage, 
All from dust receive their birth. 

Barn and mill, and wine-vat's treasures, 
Earthly goods for earthly lives, 

These are Nature's ancient pleasures, 
These her child from her derives. 



THE HUSBANDMAN. 205 

What the dream, but vain rebelling, 

If from earth we sought to flee ? 
,r Tis our stored and ample dwelling 

'Tis from it the skies we see. 

Wind and frost, and hour and season, 

Land and water, sun and shade, 
Work with these, as bids thy reason, 

For they work thy toil to aid. 

Sow thy seed and reap in gladness ! 

Man himself is all a seed ; 
Hope and hardship, joy and sadness, 

Slow the plant to ripeness lead. 



17 



THE HUNTER. 



tJ -***T?^ f^p ^44*4^^» 



Merrily winds the hunter's horn, 

And loud the ban of dogs replying, 
When before the shout of the fleet-foot morn, 

The shadows of night are flying. 

Sullen the boar in the deep green wood, 
And proud the stag that roams the forest, 

And noble the steed with his warlike blood, 
That exults when the toil is sorest. 

Fair is the land of hill and plain, 

And lonesome dells in misty mountains; 

And the crags where eagles in tempest reign, 
And swan-loved lakes and fountains. 

These are the joys that hunters find, 

Whate'er the sky that's bending o'er them, 

When they leave their cares on their beds behind, 
And earth is all fresh before them. 

Day ever chases away the night, 

And wind pursues the waves of ocean, 

And the stars are brother-like hunters bright, 
And all is in ceaseless motion. 

Life is a chase, and so 'tis joy, 

And hope foretells the hunter's morrow ; 

'Tis the skill of man and the bliss of boy 
To gallop away from sorrow. 



THE MARINERS. 



Raise we the yard and ply the oar, 

The breeze is calling us swift away; 
The waters are breaking in foam on the shore ; 

Our boat no more can stay, can stay. 

When the blast flies fast in the clouds on high, 

And billows are roaring loud below, 
The boatman's song, in the stormy sky, 

Still dares the gale to blow, to blow. 
The timber that frames his faithful boat, 

Was dandled in storms on the mountain peaks, 
And in storms, with a bounding keel, 'twill float, 

And laugh when the sea-fiend shrieks, and shrieks. 

And then in the calm and glistening nights, 
We have tales of wonder, and joy, and fear, 

And deeds of the powerful ocean sprites, 
With which our hearts we cheer, we cheer. 

For often the dauntless mariner knows 
That he must sink to the land beneath, 

Where the diamond on trees of coral grows, 
In the emerald halls of Death, of Death. 

Onward we sweep through smooth and storm; 

We are voyagers all in shine or gloom; 
And the dreamer who skulks by his chimney warm, 

Drifts in his sleep to doom, to doom. 



THE DEAREST. 

Oh ! that from far-away mountains 

Over the restless waves, 
Where bubble enchanted fountains, 

Rising from jewelled caves, 
I could call a fairy bird, 
Who, whene'er thy voice was heard, 

Should come to thee, dearest! 

He should have violet pinions / 

And a beak of silver white, 
And should bring from the sun's dominions, 

Eyes that would give thee light. 
Thou should' st see that he was born 
In a land of gold and morn 

To be thy servant, dearest ! 

Oft should he drop on thy tresses 

A pearl, or diamond stone, 
And would yield to thy light caresses 

Blossoms in Eden grown. 
Round thy path his wings would shower 
Now a gem and now a flower, 

And dewy odours, dearest ! 

He should fetch from his eastern island 
The songs that the Peris sing, 

And when evening is clear and silent, 
Spells to thy ear would bring, 



THE DEAREST. 209 



And with his mysterious strain 
Would entrance thy weary brain, 
Love's own music, dearest ! 

No Phoenix, alas ! will hover, 
Sent from the morning star ; 

And thou must take of thy lover 
A gift not brought so far: 

Wanting bird, and gem, and song, 

Ah ! receive and treasure long 
A heart that loves thee, dearest ! 



17* 



THE ROSE AND THE GAUNTLET. 

Low spake the Knight to the peasant girl, 
"I tell thee sooth — I am belted Earl; 
Fly with me from this garden small, 
And thou shalt sit in my castle's hall, 

" Thou shalt have pomp, and wealth, and pleasure, 
Joys beyond thy fancy's measure ; 
Here with my sword and horse I stand, 
To bear thee away to my distant land. 

" Take, thou fairest! this full-blown rose, 
A token of Love that as ripely blows/' 
With his glove of steel he plucked the token, 
But it fell from his gauntlet crushed and broken. 

The maiden exclaimed — " Thou see'st, Sir Knight, 
Thy fingers of iron can only smite ; 
And, like the rose thou hast torn and scattered, 
I in thy grasp should be wrecked and shattered. " 

She trembled and blushed, and her glances fell ; 
But she turned from the Knght, and said "Farewell ;' 
" Not so," he creid, " will I lose my prize, 
I heed not thy words, but I read thine eyes." 

He lifted her up in his grasp of steel, 
And he mounted and spurred with furious heel ; 
But her cry drew forth her hoary sire, 
Who snatched his bow from above the fire. 



THE ROSE AND THE GAUNTLET. 211 

Swift from the valley the warrior fled, 

Swifter the bolt of the cross-bow sped ; 

And the weight that pressed on the fleet-foot horse, 

Was the living man, and the woman's corse. 

That morning the rose was bright of hue ; 
That morning the maiden was fair to view; 
But the evening sun its beauty shed 
On the withered leaves, and the maiden dead, 



THELADYOFTHECASTLE. 



*— *njl ft 0k fit ltn*^ 

The Leaguer round the castle wall 
Had oft beheld its bravest fall, 

While week on week went by; 
Nor fraud nor onset aught availed, 
Those walls of granite never quailed, 

Those men were sworn to die. 

The castle's Lord was far away, 
But still its Lady roused the fray, 

Steel heart in lovely breast ! 
And many a fiery rush was vain, 
And spent the arrows, piercing rain 

Against that rocky crest. 

But sickness came, and biting need, 
That tames the forward spirit's deed, 

And slacks the strongest hand. 
With hollow looks their foes they eyed, 
And wasted limbs were nerved by pride, 

That scarce could wield the brand. 

One night the moon was hid in cloud, 
The mountain-wind was speaking loud, 

The sky was drear and chill. 
When sudden word went round the towers, 
That all must join with banded powers, 

And hurry down the hill. 



THE LADY OF THE CASTLE. 21 3 

Then trembling hands and fainting hearts, 
And souls that only woke by starts, 

Were scared and drooped away. 
The banner hung a powerless rag, 
'Mid men who oft around that flag 

Had drenched in blood the clay. 

Upon his lonely watch there stood 
An aged man of sullen mood, 

But known in many a fight, — 
Old Mark the Greybeard, deeply scarred 
With wounds that much his face had marred, 

Yet strong with lingering might. 

To him the Lady gliding came, 
A pale and solitary dame, 

And spake with glancing eyes — 
" Thou knows't, my friend, our need so sore, 
Thou know'st all other hope is o'er, 

Except what Will supplies. 

" Thou stand the first and lift thy sword; 
Two hundred men will own thy word 

And rush upon the foe." 
Stern Mark replied, "My cravings speak 
As clear as thou, but I am weak; 

By Heaven ! I will not go !" 

A moment's pause, a passing thought 
Deep change upon her spirit wrought, 

Though crossed by fear and shame; 
And soon with downcast eye she said, — 
" Then I alone must give thee aid; 

May God forgive the blame ! 

" Thou lov'st my son, my only child, 
Who oft upon thy arms has smiled, 



214 THE LADY OF THE CASTLE. 

And watched thy plume go by ; 
My breast now scarce can yield him food, 
For I have none to cheer my blood ; 

But thou shalt drain it dry/' 
The soldier on the lady gazed, 
And trembled sore — his blade he raised, 

And swiftly turned away. 
With tramp of strength, and battle-cry, 
He drew the band beneath his eye, 

And hurrying sought the fray. 
Before that charge of pale despair, 
The lusty throng collected there 

Were torn, and dashed, and driven; 
And sweeping up the valley came, 
With lances fixed and torches' flame, 

The Chief restored by Heaven. 
Between those double powers hemmed in, 
The foes were crushed with shrieks and din, 

And trampled down to gore. 
Amid them Mark was pierced, and fell, 
While loud the trumpet rang to tell 

His slayers lived no more. 
In other years that noble boy, 
His sire and mother's only joy, 

The tale by her was told ; 
For life the sword of Mark he wore, 
And when he died, his tombstone bore 

The blade in shrine of gold. 
Beside his tomb another stood 
Where lay in marble Blanche the Good, 

Like one in faith who dies. 
The stainless lady's breast was bare, 
And Mark's grey ghost was warder there. 

To daunt irreverent eyes. 



THE SEA-MAID. 

A maiden came gliding o'er the sea, 
In a boat as light as boat could be, 
And she sang in tones so sweet and free, 
" O ! where is the youth that will follow me V s 

Her forehead was white as the pearly shell, 
And in flickering waves her ringlets fell, 
Her bosom heaved with a gentle swell, 
And her voice was a distant vesper bell. 

And still she sang while the western light 
Fell on her figure so soft and bright, 
" O ! where shall I find the brave young sprite 
That will follow the track of my skiff to-night ?" 

To the strand the youths of the village run, 
When the witching song has scarce begun, 
And ere the set of that evening sun, 
Fifteen bold lovers the maid has won. 

They hoisted the sail, and they plied the oar, 
And away they went from their native shore, 
While the damsel's pinnace flew fast before, 
But never, O ! never we saw them more. 



THE SPICE TREE. 

The Spice Tree lives in the garden green, 

Beside it the fountain flows, 
And a fair Bird sits the boughs between, 

And sings his melodious woes. 

No greener garden e'er was known 
Within the bounds of an earthly King; 

No lovelier skies have ever shone 

Than those that illumine its constant spring. 

That coil-bound stem has branches three, 
On each a thousand blossoms grow ; 

And old as aught of time can be, 

The root stands fast in the rocks below. 

In the spicy shade ne'er seems to tire 
The fount that builds a silvery dome, 

And flakes of purple and ruby fire 

Gush out, and sparkle amid the foam. 

The fair white Bird of flaming crest, 
And azure wings bedropt with gold, 

Ne'er has he known a pause of rest, 
But sings the lament that he framed of old. 



THE SPICE TREE. 217 

u O ! Princess bright ! how long the night 
Since thou art sunk in the waters clear ; 

How sadly they flow from the depth below, 
How long must I sing and thou wilt not hear ? 

The waters play, and the flowers are gay, 

And the skies are sunny above ; 
I would that all could fade and fall, 

And I too cease to mourn my love. 

M O ! many a year so wakeful and drear 
I have sorrowed and watched, beloved, for thee ! 

But there comes no breath from the chambers of death, 
While the lifeless fount gushes under the tree." 

The skies grow dark, and they glare with red, 

The tree shakes off its spicy bloom, 
The waves of the fount in a black pool spread, 

And in thunder sounds the garden's doom. 

Down springs the Bird with long shrill cry, 

Into the sable and angry flood, 
And the face of the pool, as he falls from high, 

Curdles in circling stains of blood. 

But sudden again upswells the fount, 

Higher and higher the waters flow, 
In a glittering diamond arch they mount, 

And round it the colours of morning glow. 

Finer and finer the watery mound 

Softens and melts to a thin-spun veil, 
And tones of music circle around, 

And bear to the stars the fountain's tale. 

And swift the eddying rainbow screen 

Falls in dew on the grassy floor ; 
Under the spice-tree the Garden's Queen 

Sits by her Lover, who wails no more. 
18 



THE PENITENT. 

Within a dark monastic cell 

A monk's pale corpse was calmly laid, 
Peace on his lips was seen to dwell, 

And light above the forehead played. 

Upon the stone beneath his hand 

Was found a small and written scroll, 

And he whose eye the record scanned 
From this dim part must guess the whole. 

u There comes a Thought at dead of night, 
And bids the shapes of sleep be gone, 

A Thought that's more than Thought, a sight 
On which the sun has never shone. 

" A pale stern face, and sterner far, 

Because it is a woman's face; 
It gleams a waning worn-out star, . 

That once was bright with morning grace. 

" An icy vision, calm, and cold, 
The sprite of vanished hours it seems; 

It brings to me the times of old, 

That look like, but that are not, dreams. 



THE PENITENT. 219 

- It brings back sorrows long gone by, 
And folly stained not washed with tears; 

Years fall away like leaves, and die — 
And Life's bare bony stem appears. 

" Dark face ! Thou art not all a shade 

That fancy bids beside me be; 
The blood, that once in passion played 

Through my young veins, beat high for thee. 

" Now changed and withered all ! My sighs 
Round thee have breathed a sicklied air, 

And sad before my saddening eyes 
Thou showest the hues of my despair. 

" Still prayers are strong, and God is good; 

Man is not made for endless ill, 
Drear Sprite ! my soul's tormented mood 

Has yet a hope thou canst not kill. 

" Repentance clothes in grass and flowers 
The grave in which the Past is laid ; 

And close to Faith's old minster towers, 
The Cross lights up the ghostly shade. 

" Around its foot the shapes of fear, 
Whose eyes my weaker heart appal, 

As sister suppliants thrill the ear 
With cries that loud for mercy call. 

" Thou, God, wilt hear! Thy pangs are meant 

To heal the spirit, not destroy; 
And fiends from hell for vengence sent, 

When thou commandest, work for joy. 



THE MOSS-ROSE. 

Mossy rose on mossy stone, 
Flowering 'mid the ruins lone, 
I have learnt, beholding thee, 
Youth and Age may well agree. 

Baby germ of freshest hue, 
Out of ruin issuing new; 
Moss a long laborious growth 
And one stalk supporting both : 

Thus may still, while fades the past, 
Life come forth again as fast; 
Happy if the relics sere 
Deck a cradle, not a beir. 

Tear the garb, the spirit flies, 
And the heart unsheltered, dies; 
Kill within the nursling flower, 
Scarce the green survives an hour. 

Ever thus together live, 
And to man a lesson give, 
Moss, the work of vanished years, 
Rose, that but to-day appears. 



THE MOSS ROSE. 221 

Moss, that covers dateless tombs ; 
Bud with early sweet that blooms; 
Childhood thus, in happy rest, 
Lies on ancient Wisdom's breast. 

Moss and Rose, and Age and Youth, 
Flush and Verdure, Hope and truth, 
Yours be peace that knows not strife, 
One the root and one the life. 



18* 



TO A CHILD. 



Dear child! whom sleep can hardly tame, 
As live and beautiful as flame, 
Thou glancest round my graver hours 
As if thy crown of wild-wood flowers 
Were not by mortal forehead worn, 
But on the summer breeze were borne, 
Or on a mountain streamlet's waves, 
Came glistening down from dreamy caves. 

With bright round cheek, amid whose glow 
Delight and wonder come and go, 
And eyes whose inward meanings play, 
Congenial with the light of day, 
And brow so calm, a home for Thought 
Before he knows his dwelling wrought; 
Though wise indeed thou seemest not, 
Thou brightenest well the wise man's lot. 

That shout proclaims the undoubting mind, 
That laughter leaves no ache behind ; 
And in thy look and dance of glee, 
Unforced, unthought of, simply free, 



TO A CHILD. 223 

How weak the schoolman's formal art 
Thy soul and body's bliss to part ! 
I hail the Childhood's very Lord, 
In gaze and glance, in voice and word. 

In spite of all foreboding fear, 
A thing thou art of present cheer ; 
And thus to be beloved and known 
As is a rushy fountain's tone, 
As is the forest's leafy shade, 
Or blackbird's hidden serenade : 
Thou art a flash that lights the whole ; 
A gush from nature's vernal soul. 

And yet, dear Child ! within thee lives 
A power that deeper feeling gives, 
That makes thee more than light or air, 
Than all things sweet and all things fair ; 
And sweet and fair as aught may be, 
Diviner life belongs to thee, 
For 'mid thine aimless joys began 
The perfect Heart and Will of Man. 

Thus what thou art foreshows to me 
How greater far thou soon shalt be ; 
And while amid thy garlands blow 
The winds that warbling come and go, 
Ever within not loud but clear 
Prophetic murmur fills the ear, 
And says that every human birth 
Anew discloses God to earth. 



THE SONG OF EVE TO CAIN. 

Oh! rest, my baby, rest! 

The day 
Is glowing down the west; 

Now tired of sunny play, 
Upon thy mother's breast 
O ! rest, my darling, rest ! 

Thou first-born child of man, 

In thee 
New joy for us began, 

Which seemed all dead to be, 
When that so needful ban 
From Eden exiled man. 

But more than Paradise 

Was ours, 
When thou with angel eyes, 

Amid our blighted flowers 
Wast born, a heavenly prize 
Unknown in Paradise. 

My happy garden Thou, 

Where I 
Make many a hopeful vow, 

And every hour espy 
New bloom on each young bough; 
My sinless tree art thou. 



THE SONG OF EVE TO CAIN. 225 

I fearless reap thy fruit 

Of bliss; 
And I who am thy root, 
Am too the air to kiss 
The gleams that o'er thee shoot ; 
And fed, I feed thy fruit. 

Thy father's form and pride 

And thought, 
In thee yet unde scried, 

Shall soon be fully wrought, 
Grow tall, and bright, and wide, 
In thee our hope and pride. 

Nay, do not stir, my child, 

Be still ; 
In thee is reconciled 

To man Heaven's righteous Will. 
To thee the Curse is mild, 
And smites not thee, my child. 

To us our sin has borne 

Its doom. 
From light dethroned and torn, 

'Twas ours to dwell in gloom ; 
But thou, a better morn, 
By that dark night art borne. 

Thou shalt, my child, be free 

From sin, 
Nor taste the fatal tree, 

For thou from us shalt win 
A wisdom cheap to thee; 
So thou from ill be free ! 



226 THE SONG OF EVE TO CAIN. 

My bird, my flower, my star, 

My boy ! 
My all things fair that are, 

My spring of endless joy, 
From thee is Heaven not far, 
From thee, its earthly star. 

So, darling, shalt thou grow 

A man, 
While we shall downward go, 

Descend each day a span, 
And sink beneath the wo 
Of deaths from sin that grow. 

And thou perhaps, shalt see 

A race 
Brought forth by us, like thee ; 

Though strength like thine, and grace, 
In none shall ever be 
Of all whom earth can see. 

And thou amid mankind 

Shalt move 
With glorious form and mind, 

In holiness and love ; 
And all in thee shall find 
The bliss of all mankind. 

Then rest, my child, O rest! 

The day 
Has darkened down the west. 

Thou dream the night away 
Upon thy mother's breast; 
O ! rest, my darling rest ! 



ABELARD TO HELOISE, 

When unveiled by Truth's compulsion, 

Life without a smile appears, 
And the breaking heart's convulsion 

Finds no vent in words or tears ; 

Naught can cheer the dark existence 
Which we may not fly from yet; 

But with Fate's severe assistance, 
Though we live, we may forget. 

Patience, quiet, toil, denial, 

These though hard are good for man ; 
And the martyred spirit's trial 

Gains it more than passion can. 

This have thou and I been learning, 
Lesson strange to young and old ; 

But while loving, shrinking, yearning, 
Be it still the faith we hold. 

For while wo is broad and patent, 
Filling, clouding all the sight, 

Ever meliora latent, 
And a dawn will end the night. 



228 ABELARD TO HELOISE. 

Meliora latent ever ; 

Better than the seen lies hid ; 
Time the curtain's dusk will sever, 

And will raise the casket's lid, 

This our hope for all that's mortal, 
And we too shall burst our bond ; 

Death keeps watch beside the portal, 
But 'tis Life that dwells beyond. 

Still the final hour befriends us, 
Nature's direst though it be ; 

And the fiercest pang that rends us, 
Does its worst — and sets us free. 

While our seekings, lingerings, fleeings, 
Most inflame us, most destroy; 

It is much for weakest beings 
Still to hope though not enjoy. 

Then from earth's immediate sorrow 
Toward the skyey future turn; 

And from its unseen to-morrow 
Fill to-day's exhausted urn. 



THE AGES. 






How swiftly pass a thousand years ! 

And lo ! they all have flowed away, 
And o'er the hardening earth appears 

Green pasture mixed with rocks of gray; 
And there huge monsters roll and feed, 

Each frame a mass of sullen life ; 
Through slimy wastes and woods of reed 

They crawl and tramp, and blend in strife. 

How swiftly pass a thousand years ! 

And o'er the wide and grassy plain, 
A human form the prospect cheers, 

The new-sprung lord of earth's domain. 
Half clad in skins he builds the cell, 

Where wife and child create a home; 
To Heaven he feels his spirit swell, 

And owns a Might beyond the dome. 

How swiftly pass a thousand years ! 

And lo ! a city and a realm ; 
Its weighty pile a temple rears, 

And walls are bright with sword and helm : 
19 



230 THE AGES. 

Each man is lost amid a crowd ; 

Each power unknown now bears a name ; 
And laws and feasts and songs are loud, 

And myriads hail their monarch's fame. 

How swiftly pass a thousand years ! 

And now beside the rolling sea, 
Where many a sailor nimbly steers, 

The ready tribes are bold and free. 
The graceful shrine adorns the hill; 

The square of Council spreads below; 
Their theatres a people fill, 

And list to thought's impassioned flow. 

How swiftly pass a thousand years ! 

We live amid a sterner land, 
Where laws ordained by ancient seers 

Have trained the soul to self-command. 
There Pride and Policy and War, 

With haughty fronts are gazing slow, 
And bound at their trumphalcar, 

O'ermastered kings to darkness go. 

How swiftly pass a thousand years ! 

And chivalry and faith are strong ; 
And through devotion's humble tears 

Is seen high help for earthly wrong : 
Fair gleams the cross with mystic light 

Beneath an arch of woven gloom, 
The Burgher's pledge of civil right, 

The sign that marks the Monarch's tomb. 

How swift the years ! how great the chain 
That drags along our slight to-day ! 

Before that sound returns again 

The Present will have streamed away ; 



THE AGES. 231 



And all our World of busy strength 
Will dwell in calmer halls of Time, 

And then with joy will own at length, 
Its course is fixed, its end sublime. 



PROSE AND SONG. 



I looked upon a plain of green, 

That some one called the Land of Prose, 
Where many living things were seen, 

In movement or repose. 

I look'd upon a stately hill 

That well was named the Mount of Song, 
Where golden shadows dwelt at will 

The woods and streams among. 

But most this fact my wonder bred, 
Though known by all the nobly wise, 

It was the mountain streams that fed 
The fair green plain's amenities. 



THE SHAFTS OF SONG. 



Thou who deem'st the poet's lay 
Should be always soft and cooing, 

And no harsher word should say 
Than befits a beardless wooing. 

Think, the bee can sting the foe, 
Who would rob its honey' d bowers, 

And Apollo bears a bow, 

Though his head be crown'd with flowers. 

Seas that win a fond devotion, 
Whelm our too adventurous kind ; 

And the sun, whose radient motion 
Feeds the world, can strike thee blind. 



19* 



THE POET'S HOME. 



In the cavern's lonely hall, 
By the mighty waterfall, 
Lives a spirit shy and still, 
Whom the soften' d murmurs thrill, 
Heard within the twilight nook, 
Like the music of a brook. 

Poet! thus sequester' d dwell, 
In thy fancy's haunted cell, 
That the floods abroad may be 
Like a voice of peace to thee, 
While thou giv'st to nature's tone 
Soul and sweetness all thy own. 

Hear, but, ah ! intrust thee not 
To the waves beyond thy grot, 
Lest thy low and wizard strain 
Warble through the storm in vain, 
And thy dying songs deplore 
Thou must see thy cave no more. 



THE HAPPY HOUR. 



■ m i l 9 QQ lw ■ 

The life of man has wondrous hours 

Revealed at once to heart and eye, 
When wake all being's kindled powers, 
And joy like dew on trees and flowers 

With freshness fills the earth and sky. 
With finer scent and softer tone 

The breezes wind through waving leaves; 
By friendlier beams new tints are thrown 
On furrowed stem and mouldering stone ; 

The gorgeous grapes, the jewelled sheaves 
To living glories turn, 

And eyes that look from cottage eaves, 

Through shadows green that jasmine weaves, 
With love and fancy burn. 

The broad smooth river flames with waves, 
Where floats the swan, an opal sprite, 

And marble shapes on silent graves 
Seem starting towards the light. 

The distant landscape glows serene ; 

The dark old tower with tremulous sheen 



236 THE HAPPY HOUR. 

Pavilion of a seraph stands. 

The mountain rude, with steeps of gold, 

And mists of ruby o'er them rolled, 
Up towards the evening star expands. 

The ocean streaks in distance gray 

With sapphire radiance sparkling play. 

And silver sails hold on their way 
To unseen fairy lands. 

And those who walk within the sphere, 
The plot of earth's transfigured green, 

Like angels walk, so high, so clear, 
With ravishment in eye and mien. 

For this one hour no breath of fear, 

Of shame or weakness wandering near 
Can trusting hearts annoy : 

Past things are dead, or only live 

The life that hope alone can give, 
And all is faith and joy. 

'Tis not that beauty forces then 

Her blessings on reluctant men, 
But this great globe with all its might, 
Its awful depth and heavenward height, 

Seems but my heart with wonder thrilling 
And beating in my human breast; 

My sense with inspiration filling, 
Myself — beyond my nature blest. 

Well for all such hours who know, 

All who hail, not bid them go, 
If the spirit's strong pulsation 

After keeps its nobler tone, 
And no helpless lamentation 

Dulls the heart when rapture's flown ; 
If the rocky field of Duty 

Built around with mountains hoar, 
Still is dearer than the Beauty 

Of the sky -land's coloured shore. 



ON READING A NEWSPAPER. 






Such deeds there be of grief and crime, 

That rise within the bounds of time, 

At whose bad sound we well might wonder 

Heaven does not burst with yells of thunder. 

Whate'er in horrid glee is done, 

When men exult for cities won, 

When fiendish lust, and vengeful strife, 

Are curdling up the heart of life ; 

Or in the dim and silent nooks 

On which no sunshine ever looks, 

The cold hard selfishness that wears 

Young spirits into gray despairs, 

When custom, avarice, pride, destroy 

All natural freedom, guiltless joy, 

When some fair girl, compelPd to wed, 

Mounts the rich graybeard's loathsome bed; 

Or one as fair is made the prey 

Of him who wooed but to betray. 

And then is thrown in scorn away, 

In death, or misery tenfold worse, 

Learns nature's dearest gifts to curse, 



238 ON READING A NEWSPAPER. 

While he who slew her hopes, elate 
Walks envied by, and mocks her fate. 
Such too the sight, when I behold 
The throng a factory's walls enfold, 
Where parents sell their children's breath, 
And youthful blood to long-drawn death; 
And wealthy, honoured, spotless men, 
Keep each, unblamed, his human den, 
And make of infant's fevered screams 
A strain to lull luxurious dreams. 
'Tis worse to hear, as oft we can, 
Some high-born, affluent, sated man, 
Who vindicates his awful right, 
Hung over thousands like a blight, 
Affirming truths of holiest sense 
With solemn tone of smooth pretence, 
Till, turning with a sneer away, 
At dice and bets he wastes the day. 
And worst, perhaps, of all to see 
The crowds who clamour to be free, 
Poor, hungry, lewd, bewildered throng, 
For good uncaring, mad with wrong, 
Whose ulcer 'tis they ne'er were taught 
What all men need, what all men ought, 
While leaders, whom as gods they hail, 
Delude them with a drunken tale, 
Proclaiming still the frantic vaunt 
That power — more power — is all they want. 
To me such sights and sounds as these 
Are worse than life's most sore disease ; 
And I could pray to close mine eyes 
On all that moves beneath the skies, 
And rather than such visions, bless 
The gloomiest depths of nothingness. 



ON READING A NEWSPAPER. 239 

But something whispers still within — 
The dream is vain, the wish were sin ; 
'Tis worth a wise man's best of life, 
'Tis worth a thousand years of strife, 
If thou canst lessen but by one 
The countless ills beneath the sun. 



THE TWO MIRRORS. 



There is a silent pool, whose glass 
Reflects the lines of earth and sky; 

The hues of heaven along it pass, 
And all the verdant forestry. 

And in that shining downward view, 
Each cloud, and leaf, and little flower, 

Grows 'mid a watery sphere anew, 
And doubly lives the summer hour. 

Beside the brink, a lovely maid, 
Against a furrowed stem is leaning 

To watch the painted light and shade 
That give the mirror form and meaning. 

Her shape and cheek, her eyes and hair 
Have caught the splendour floating round; 

She in herself embodies there 
All life that fills sky, lake, and ground. 

And while her looks the crystal meets, 
Her own fair image seems to rise ; 

And, glass-like, too, her heart repeats 
The world that there in vision lies. 



SCEPTICS AND SPECTRES. 

Lean sceptic, hating spectres, white, or sable, 
Thou bidd'st all phantoms from thy world depart, 

Perhaps in fear lest they may turn the table, 
And thou be seen the spectral thing thou art. 

Or, as existence all is mist and dreams 

To one whom nothing real moves, or warms, 

Thou dread'st perhaps lest ghostly shapes may seem 
The mocking copies of thy life's vain forms. 

Do I then credit ghosts ? — I well believe 

The spirit of the past for ever lives ; 
The dull, dead eye its nightmare masks deceive; 

Fresh life to living eyes its vital presence gives. 



20 



STEAM LAND. 



There is an engine, huge and dark. 
That mutters, while it heaves and strains, 

*' I think profoundly ! Don't you mark 
How strongly work my metal brains ? 

" My wheels are truths, my piston duty, 
I'm bedded deep on faith's foundation; 

My polish is the light of beauty, 
My smoke is weird imagination." 

I watched and longed, my fancy puzzling, 
What marvel from such power should issue, 

When lo ! a piece of printed muslin, 
Like any vulgar engine's tissue. 

This wonder broke my soul's sedateness, 

When hoarse the thing exclaimed in rage, 
s< Fool ! I am England's modern greatness, 
And this thin woof's her noblest page." 



SEEING AND DOING. 



We stood upon the mountain's open side 

And saw the plain below expanded wide, 

Cut through with channelled roads, in which a throng 

Of travellers journeyed on with shout and song. 

My friend exclaimed, — " How narrow are the ways 
By many trod, with banks that camp the gaze ! 
On this fair mountain free we stand, and view 
The several pathways that the crowd pursue." 

"True, friend," I answered, "yet we but behold, 
While others move on journeys manifold. 
Our eyes indeed are free, but we are chained 
By pride that keeps us on this height detained. 
If we would seek an end, and journey to it, 
Through those deep roads below we must pursue it." 



ELEVEN TRIADS. 



Three Furies are there, Fear, Remorse, and Hate, 
That vex with iron hands our mortal state, 
Yet they are guardians of a heavenly gate. 

Three Graces are our stars, Love, Beauty, Truth, 

Primeval sisters, bright in endless youth, 

That cheer man's slavish toils with Peace and Ruth. 

Young Abel lies a wreck in childless death ; 
Cain withers in his own envenomed breath ; 
Yet hopeful Eve is yearning still for Seth. 

Faith, Hope, and Love, together work in gloom; 
What Faith believes, Hope shapes in form and bloom, 
And Love sends forth to daylight from the tomb. 

To hide the life of man in leprous crust, 

Three Gorgons are there, bred from Hell's dark lust, 

Potent of death, — Despair, Self-scorn, Distrust. 

The Rain that w~ets the summer leaves, 
The Beam that dries, the Wind that heaves, 
Each gives a charm, and each receives. 



ELEVEN TRIADS. 245 

Three Destinies are throned o'er all supreme, 
Life, Death, and Growth. Wide shapes of cloud 

they seem, 
Yet rule each starry age, and moment's dream. 

Thought, Feeling, Will, — by these myself I know 
Not some thin vision's transitory show, 
Not slave, but subject of all joy and wo. 

Three Nations are there in the world of old 
Who from their graves all earth's dominion hold, 
The Jew devout, wise Greek, and Roman bold. 

Three growths from seeds without man's call appear, 
Grain, Flower, and Tree ; one gives his body's cheer ; 
One decks his bride ; one yields his roof and bier. 

Prose, Song, and Gabble are three modes of speech* 

The only ones on earth for all and each, 

Sense, Essence, Nonsense, as they can, to teach. 



20* 



ROME. 






The world sent forth a stately ship 

That long in glory sailed, 
Until against that stubborn hulk 

The winds of heaven prevailed; 

The ship was dashed upon the shore, 
The wreck was on the foam, 

Though on the shattered stern was seen 
The boast — Imperial Rome. 

Again the ruin was repaired, 
And launched upon the main; 

With blazoned flags and arms it swept, 
And was a ship again ; 

By thundersound it strove to daunt 
Mankind, and storms, and time, 

And trafficked long, by force and fraud, 
In every richest clime. 

Once more it struck against the rocks, 
Beneath the stress of heaven, 

And all its threats and all its wealth, 
Along the surge were driven ; 

It lies a hulk in slow decay, 
Each dull sea-monster's home, 

And on the slimy stern is carved 
The name of Papal Rome. 



THE OWL. 



■ •*►>►© ^^ 64Hp* ■ 



'Mid all the tribes of airy fowl, 
Naught is so wise as the homed owl : 
If in daylight he opens his eyes by chance, 
He shuts them again with a satisfied glance, 
For the rays of the sun make all things dim, 
And the light within is enough for him. 
While the hawk, the eagle, and birds as blind, 
Look with their eyes at whate'er they find, 
He in a method more sure by far 
Knows a priori what all things are; 
And is, in a word, the profoundest sage 
That improves by darkness his twilight age 
Hail to thee, wise metaphysical bird ! 
Whose name in all dusky schools is heard ; 
Live thou, and prosper and spread thy reign, 
And soon will the sunshine intrude in vain. 
The rubbish of facts will be all removed, 
And Nature outvoted, and Light disproved; 
For the purest idea lies farthest from things, 
And flash-like in darkness to being it springs. 



248 THE OWL. 

Hail to thee wise, and horned owl ; 
Wisest of all that have worn the cowl; 
Greater than all that have e'er in the East 
Their souls from the bondage of things released, 
And, scorning to trace with earth displays, 
Divined by a guess all Nature's ways. 
Thou shapest, O sage ! by dogma stern 
The facts that some are content to learn ; 
And, while thy sons thine art profess, 
Ever shall flourish the praise of guess. 



THOUGHTS IN RHYME. 



My gay -garbed friend, much wonder fills the mind, 
At leaf-girt Adam's stock so much refined ! 
The leaf has flourished wide in form and hue, 
And the man dwindled while the foliage grew. 

n. 

Bid, at starry midnight's hour, 

Dante's organ swell with power ; 

Hear at noon when winds am mute, 

'Mid the woods Petrarca's lute ; 

Kindling list, at dawn of morn, 

Ariosto's bugle horn ; 

Let thine ear at lingering eve 

Tasso's twilight flute receive ; 

That sweet music manifold 

Through the sense the heart may mould. 

in. 

EPITAPH ON A YOUNG SWISS WHO DIED AT MADEIRA. 

The exiled son of old Helvetia's race 

Beheld these hills, and longed for Jura's pile ; 

And soon, 'mid men of alien speech and face, 
He sank to death in this Atlantic isle. 



250 THOUGHTS IN RHYME. 

From country far, from friends compelled to roam, 
Still she whom best he loved consoled his eyes ; 

And looking still to his eternal home, 

He found his childhood's God in foreign skies. 

IV. 

Would Beatrice unto thee, O friend, 

As erst for him she loved, from heaven descend, 

Make pure thine eyes with light from hers, and raise 

Beyond the terrene mist thy spirit's gaze ; 

Then wouldst thou Dante see, where starry quires 

Tune voice and thought to awe-resounding lyres ; 

His front redeemed from care, his lip from pride, 

No love now baffled, and no foes defied ; 

His country there whence none are doomed to roam, 

And Christ's full presence not a foreign home. 



How fair the summer day of joy and light, 
How soft the liquid eve's aerial dyes, 

How clear and musical the starry night, 

That sleep in death where Love's Petrarca lies; 

VI. 

Think thou no more of Words, exclaimed my friend ; 
But unto Things, instead, thy labour bend ! 
So Words, then, are not things ! If this be true, 
Thy Words of counsel, friend ! are No-things too. 

vn. 

When reason serves at passion's will, 
The Centaur flies from bonds released, 

And who should guide the strength by skill 
Himself is changed to half the beast. 



THOUGHTS IN RHYME. 251 

VIII. 

Sweet notes, to all but him unspoken, 

Attuned to bliss a poet's thought; 
He grasped the lyre, the strings were broken, 

And silence hid the strain he sought. 

A longing heart would fain have given 

A nobler life to mortal things ; 
But found that earth will not be heaven, 

Nor lyres resound without the strings. 

ix. 

The region known to men as England, 
Is called among the Immortals — Thing-land. 
Alas ! that earth's most fully fraught-land 
With all its riches, is not Thought-land. 



I looked upon a steam-engine, and thought 
'Tis strange that when the engineer is dead, 

A copy of his brains in iron wrought, 

Should thus survive the archetypal head. 

XI. 

Poor affluence of Words, how weak thy power 
Without the warming heart, the bright'ning head ! 

When Jove came down through Danae's brazen 
tower, 
It was not, mark ye, in a fall of lead. 

xn. 

A troop went pacing by in easy ken 
Of one who rested in his idle wherry, 

And wondered much why heaven created men 
Who had no need to pass across the ferry. 



252 THOUGHTS IN RHYME. 

XIII. 

That mountains gather clouds I know, 
And bring forth wood and fire, and snow; 
And when they teem with men, and teach 
In word and tone of human speech, 
I, too, to hills will raise my prayer, 
Make them my heaven, and worship there. 
But worlds of earth are only clods, 
Compared with him who digs their sods. 

XIV. 

When the Titan brought fire to men on earth, 
Said the gods, the traitor intends to scare us, 

By taking a light in his schoolboy mirth 
Into Jupiter's gunpowder warehouse. 

xv. 

Thou whose mental eye is keen 
But to pierce the husks of things, 

Learn that bees were never seen 
Gathering honey with their stings. 

xvi. 

If all the forest leaves had speech, 
And talked with one rhetoric fit, 

What wonder would arise in each 
That all would not attend to it ! 

XVII. 

A Russian, looking at a map of earth, 

Saw England's smallness with contemptuous mirth : 

Poor Boyar ! 'twere a thought to break thy rest 

How large a spirit haunts man's little breast! 

And, filled with what a thimbleful of life, 

The huge rhinoceros wakes for food or strife ; 



THOUGHTS IN RHYME. 253 

xvni. 
How many giants, each in turn, have sought 

To bear the world upon their shoulders wide, 
King, conqueror, priest, and he whose work is thought ; 

And all in turn have sunk, outworn, and died ! 
But yet the world is never felt to move, 
Because it hangs suspended from above. 

XIX. 

I saw a flower-girl selling brightest flowers, 

To deck with summer joys autumnal hours ; 

With swiftest glance, light hand, and graceful speech, 

The damsel gave a rose or pink to each ; 

And where she came, there brightened many an eye ; 

As if her basket held a warmer sky. 

Ah ! 'twas not there, but lay within the breast; 

The sunshine warming that is nature's best. 



In Florence Dante's voice no more is booming, 
Nor Beatrice's face by Arno blooming; 
But hearts that never heard the poet's glory 
Have their own Heaven, and Hell, and Purgatory. 

xxi. 
I stood amid the Pitti's gilded halls, 
Where art with noble shapes had spread the walls, 
Where Raphael's truthful grace, and Titian's glow, 
Shone 'mid the austerest forms of Angelo, 
Among the bright unmoving visions there 
Were gazing groups alive, but not so fair ; 
Gay girls admired, and counts and lords went by, 
Wits, artists, soldiers, connoisseurs, and I; 
And there came in, like ghosts in dreamy scenes, 
Three mantled, cowled, and barefoot Capuchins. 

21 



254 THOUGHTS IN RHYME. 

No stranger spectres e'er confused our life 
Since Luther broke his bonds and took a wife. 
The men looked dull and harmless, cheerful too, 
And stared as sagely round as travellers do ; 
Yet sad the sight, and worst of all despairs — 
To see contentment with a lot like theirs. 

XXII. 

ON THE FAUN IN THE TRIBUNE OF THE FLORENCE 

GALLERY. 

Though no Bacchante treads with thee the lawn, 
Dash on, and clash thy cymbals, madcap Faun ; 
Thy heart goes leaping through each goatish limb, 
And shakes the flowers upon thy fountain's brim, 
While the nymphs lurk and watch, and nature's sky 
Breathes round thy horns, and drinks thy laughing cry. 
Though dead to our new world as funeral dust, 
So live thou on, and mock their full distrust ; 
For thou art life itself in stone, and they 
Who heed thee not are ghosts that flit by day. 

XXIII. 

MICHAEL ANGELO'S STATUES ON THE TOMBS OF THE 
MEDICI. 

Ye crowned unmoving truths that had your birth 
Before the swarms of things awoke on earth. 
While thus world-huge, star-high your peace endures 
This busy life of ours cannot be yours. 
It quakes and cracks where'er our steps we thrust : 
Beneath your weight of calm 'twould fall to dust, 
Sky, seas, and caves, the night beyond the stars, 
Whose lone abyss no sound of morning jars. 
Your homes are these, ye in whom we shrink, 
To see how calmly strength may rest and think. 



THOUGHTS IN RHYME. 255 

XXIV. 
THE MEDICEAN VENUS. 

Woman divine ! fair child of Grecian seas, 

Whose sunny billows gird the Cyclades ; 

Within all modest, wanting outward dress, 

Thou fillest this new time with loveliness, 

And seem'st with head half-turned and earnest soul, 

To hear afar thy natal waters roll. 

Young joy of human hearts ! the earth to me 

Is fairer now, because containing thee. 

xxv. 

THE BELVIDERE APOLLO. 

Boldand beamingin triumph looks the Lord of the Sun, 
With new victory bright over the serpent won : 
High, O Hero! thou standest unheeding of mortal ken; 
Therefore, with all thy glory filling the hearts of men. 

xxvi. 

SAN MINIATO, NEAR FLORENCE. 

While slow on Miniato's height I roam, 
And backward look to Brunette schi's dome, 
'Tis strange to think that here on many a day 
Old Michael Angelo has paced his way : 
And watching Florence, in his bosom found 
A nobler world than that which lies around. 
To him, perhaps, the ghost of Dante came 
At sunset, with his pride of mournful fame. 
By me the twain, the bard and sculptor stand, 
With strong lip gazing and uplifted hand : 
The great, the sad, fighters in ages past, 
With their full peace fill e'en the weak at last. 



256 THOUGHTS IN RHYME. 



XXVII. 



Old flaming Ages full of struggling thought 
Of startling deeds by mail-clad spirits wrought, 
Of war, and faith, and love's delightful theme, 
Of coffined crimes, and May-day feelings dream, 
High aims that gained too late their wished event, 
Good held secure, and lo ! ere tasted — spent ; 
Old days when blithe Boccaccio told his tale. 
And Guelph and Ghibeline stormed in Arno's vale, 
When sweet sighs often, "mid a world so rude, 
Spread music through the strife, no spell subdued, 
I would not wish you back, but oh ! would fain 
See what was best of yours made ours again. 

XXVIII. 

Speak not, but mutely think ! the cynic cries, 
Nor knows how speech in thinking helps the wise. 
Wise words are sails impelling smooth and fast 
The ship of thought wherein is fixed the mast. 

XXIX. 

To build a temple, more we need than toil, 
And piles of stone that crush their parent soil ; 
The hearts of men must form its deep foundation; 
Its towers must rise on trusting aspiration. 

xxx. 

I've known great wits whose wisdom all has lain 
In saying naught is true that's not profane, 
And holding mysteries false that are not plain. 

XXXI. 
THE SILKLESS WORM. 

The silkworm weaves itself a silken tomb ; 
Thy shroud, thou idler, tasks another's loom. 



THOUGHTS IN RHYME. 257 

xxxir. 

A BOOK. 

What is a book ? It is a thought impressed 
la signs that speak alike man's worst and best. 
From the true heart, and kindling reason born, 
It shines one beam of the Eternal Morn. 
But, else, a shape not live enough to die, 
A devil's mocking dream, a lie-begetting lie. 

XXXIII. 
THE CLOUD EMBRACER AND THE CLOUD COMPELLER. 

Thou brain-sick dreamer in a world of dream 
Where nothing solid braves the windy shock, 
Thy fancy needs to learn that Jove Supreme 
Compels the clouds, but sits upon a rock. 

xxxiv. 

CANT. 

O ! sacred cant ! how canting men declaim, 

As if thou wert but emptiness and shame ! 

In thee the image of all truth we trace, 

As in a mask the copy of a face ; 

And earth is fixed thy proper home to be, 

For Heaven's too good, and Hell too bad for thee, 

The heart that cants not, for all hope unfit, 

Rejects the name of aught more pure than it ; 

And he who dreads his own life-withering scoff 

Must realize his cant, not cast it off. 

xxxv. 

THE POWER OF WORDS. 

O ! mighty words, in wise men's mouths ye raise 
The earth towards heaven on nearer stars to gaze ; 
From flameless lips ye conjure down the skies 
To hang with deadly weight, and crush our eyes. 
21* 



258 THOUGHTS IN RHYME. 

XXXVI. 
APES AND EAGLES. 

The crowd to him their fondest deference pay, 
Who knows not much, yet something more than they, 
But watch with vague dislike and jealous awe, 
The hearts that mounting spurn the vulgar law. 
Thus apes obey the ape who climbs a height, 
But mock and chatter at the eagle's flight. 

XXXVII. 

THE DESTROYERS. 

Those foes of truth, they joke, and dig, and mine, — 
The mighty tree they soon will overthrow ! 
Nay fear not, friend, though hosts their toil combine, 
They move the earth, and help the tree to grow. 

XXXVIII. 

A Frenchman gathered salad for his dinner, 
From banks where ass and pig their viands got, 

And mused if all that lies 'twixt beast and sinner 
Be eating salad with sauce or not. 

It did not strike him that the brute would never 

Indulge his fancy with a thought so clever. 

XXXIX. 

When he who told Ulysses' tale in song, 

Roamed blind and poor, compelled for bread to sue, 

From his deep heart he mourned the shameful wrong — 
Ah! sweet-voiced muses, are ye Sirens too? 

XL. 
THE RULE OF ACTION. 

In silence mend what ills deform thy mind ; 
But all thy good impart to all thy kind. 



THOUGHTS IX RHYME. 25£ 



XLI. 



A sleeper, sunk in dark discordant woes, 

Scarce heard sweet music whispering through his 
dream. 

When, 'mid his dull dead life, clear sounds arose, 
Sung far in air on some Italian theme ; 

He shook his pains away, and half aghast 

Found Florence there, and all his dream was past. 

XLII. 

mox and the centaurs. 
Ixion clasp* d a cloudy form, 

And Heaven's high Queen in fancy woo'd : 
But when he saw the Centaur swarm, 

Not such, he knew, were Here's brood ? 
In man's creative genial mood 

How oft he dreams of heavenly joy ! 
But all his visionary good, 

The following monster-birth destroy. 

xLin. 
Raphael's madonna del cardellino. 
Oh, Maid divine ! beholding in thy Son 
Life more divine though first from thee begun, 
Earth's loveliest art thou, wearing on thy brow 
The thought of something lovelier still than thou. 

xliv. 
the astronomer 

Astronomer ! thy mind 1 covet not, 
That makes the universe one heavenless spot ; 
But thou true sage for ever honoured be, 
Who still believest a heaven thou canst not see. 



260 THOUGHTS IN RHYME. 

XLV. 
THE OAK OF JUDAH. 

How slowly ripen powers ordain'd to last ! 
The old may die, but must have lived before 

So Moses in the vale an acorn cast, 
And Christ arose beneath the tree it bore. 
xlvi. 
the part and the whole. 
If death seem hanging o'er thy separate soul, 
Discern thyself as part of life's great whole ; 
But if the world is all in semblance dead, 
From wells within new life around thee spread. 

xLvn. 

THE BEGGAR . 

Beggar, he by whose commands 
Alms with scorn to thee are given, 

Knows not that all being stands 
But to have its dole from heaven. 

XLVIII. 

True, O Sage ! that mortal man 
Does no more than what he can ; 
But what can by man be done 
Is a limit known to none, 

XLIX. 

One without stockings may wear a shoe, 
And travel all day as the ploughmen do : 
But delicate sentiment thinks a shoe shocking, 
So trudges in mire with only a stocking. 

L. 

Many work to gain their wages; 
Few for naught, but they the sages; 
Who seeks hire but does not labour, 
Cheats himself as well as neighbour. 



THOUGHTS IN RHYME. 261 



LI. 



Loud sceptic cock, I see thee stand 

Upon thy heap of foul decay, 
And, crowing keen, thy wings expand 

To chase all spectral things away. 

What though the ghosts thy note would scare 

Be Truth's ideal starry train ; 
Thy voice shall chase the lights of air, 

And turn them into mist again. 

Ah ; no ! a day will surely shine, 
When thou shalt know thy nature's doom, 

And self-despoiled of life divine 
Shalt find in mire thy fitting tomb. 

lh. 

THE POET. 

Bard, the film so thin and bright, 

Woven in thy conscious loom, 
Wanting superhuman light, 

Is a cobweb in a tomb. 

Lin. 

THE TOMB OF SIMONIDES. 

O ! stranger, turn thou not away; 

Simonides is here asleep. 
Could he but breathe his plaintive lay, 

Thou needs must pause and weep. 
Refuse not to the Poet's grave 

The tear his song would surely have. 

LIV. 

Be busy in trading, receiving and giving, 
For life is too good to be wasted in living. 



262 THOUGHTS IN RHYME. 

LV. 

Yellow, small Canary bird, 

Sweetly singing all day long, 
Still in winter you are heard 

Carolling a summer song. 

Thus when days are drear and dim, 
And the heart is caged as you, 

May it still with hopeful hymn 
Sing of joy and find it true. 

LVI. 

The working fire is Action strong and true, 
And helps ourselves and friends : 

And Speculation is the chimney-flue 
Whereby the smoke ascends. 

Lvn. 

Think' st thou, friend, that legends lying 
Full of flowers, and gems, and gold, 

These to man are satisfying — 
These that were his bliss of old ? 

Think' st thou tales of fairy gardens, 
Now can feed our sharpened eyes, 

We whose hearts the present hardens, 
And whose science metes the skies ? 

Once were halls of clouds erected, 
Homes where only ghosts could dwell, 

And their builders sank dejected, 
When those thin pavilions fell. 

We must raise our habitations 

On the deep and solid soil, 
And must teach the moonstruck nations 

How to build their heaven by toil. 



THOUGHTS IN RHYME. 263 

True, O sage ! and great the meaning, 

But 'twere well to understand 
That complacent overweening 

Works with no victorious hand. 

Heaven is here around, within us ; 

This our earth is Paradise, 
Or the fancies ne'er could win us 

Which thou think'st a fool's devise. 

High the hope that lures our longing, 
Man for heaven and heaven for man ! 

Though our dreams this credence wronging 
Oft obscure our Maker's plan. 

Thou who scoff'st each ancient vision, 

Type and shade of better things, 
Think' st thou Reason's dim precision 

Shapes a Heaven by wheels and springs? 

Feed thy brain's and belly's hunger 
With some big mechanic scheme ; 

God is not an engine-monger, 
Nor are souls impelled by steam. 

Lvin. 

EARTH AND AIR. 

The dweller 'mid material pelf, 

All touch, and wanting eye and ear 

And longing heart, would build himself 
A world without an atmosphere. 

LIX. 
THE TWO OCEANS. 

Two seas amid the night, 

In the moonshine roll and sparkle, 

Now spread in the silver light, 

Now sadden, and, wail, and darkle. 



264 THOUGHTS IN RHYME. 

The one has a billowy motion, 

And from land to land it gleams ; 
The other is sleep's wide ocean, 

And its glimmering waves are dreams. 
The one with murmur and roar 

Bears fleets round coast and islet ; 
The other, without a shore, 

Ne'er knew the track of a pilot. 

LX. 
THE DREAMS OF OCEAN, 

Ocean, with no wind to stir it, 
Sleeping dreams of tempest nigh, 

And the sailor's boding spirit 

Quakes within, he knows rot why. 

LXI. 

CARES and days. 
To those who prattle of despair, 

Some friend, methinks, might wisely say, 
Each day, no question, has its care, 

But also every care its day. 

LXXI. 
LEAVES AND SEED. 

Leaves that strew the wintry chase, 
Still the seeds ye warm and nourish ; 

And in their succeeding race, 
Ye anew will greenly flourish. 

LXIII. 
THE SPINNER. 

With my babe beside me sleeping, 
Quick my thrifty wheel I ply : 

Would the thread I spin with weeping 
Were his tearless destiny. 



THOUGHTS IN RHYME. 265 

LXIV. 
THE TRIBUNE OF THE FLORENCE GALLERY. 

Where Venus shuns and more attracts the eye, 
A goddess chaste, though naked as the sky ; 
Where Raphael's maiden worships in her child 
A new born Heaven by naught less pure denied : 
Where prophets old, in self-oblivion strong, 
From high walls breathe a wo on human wrong: 
Where gods and godlike men are imaged round, 
A nobler band than moves on earthly ground, 
Bewildered mortals often mutely stare 
To find how vast a life is that they share. 

LXV. 
AN EPITAPH. 

! stranger, could thy fancy know 
The dreams of him who sleeps below, 
They must so bright and lovely be, 
To dwell with one so pure as he, 
That thou would' st surely long to go 
And rest with him who sleeps below. 
But, ah ! his visions none may see, 
Save souls that are as pure as he. 

LXVI. 
DREAMING AND WAKING. 

1 dreamt a green and golden earth, 
A still renew'd, immortal birth, 

But 'mid that world so fairly beaming, 
I knew with grief, that I was dreaming. 
That grief awoke me, and I found 
A lovlier vision spread around, 
And, sweeter than my slumber's flowers, 
Bedeck'd this common world of ours. 
22 



266 THOUGHTS IN RHYME. 



LXVII. 



A sage in rapture is a seer 

Who sees his thoughts in visions clear, 

But only seers can read aright 

The prophecies that seers indite, 

And purblind eyes are led astray 

By those high truths from Reason's way. 

LXVIII. 

Good friend, so worthlessly complete, 
So deftly small, so roundly neat, 
The puniest apple being ripe 
Will ne'er exceed that pigmy type ; 
But the ripe crab is worst of all — 
At once full-grown, and sour and small. 

lxix. 

Candle that in deepest dark 
Helps the night with friendly spark, 
I too, could be well content 
To give light, and so be spent. 

Candle burning brightly 
In the darkness nightly, 
Better humbly burn to socket, 
Than flare up a foolish rocket. 

LXX. 
THE WORTH OF LIFE. 

A happy lot must sure be his, 
The lord, not slave, of things, 

Who values life by what it is, 
And not by what it brings. 



THOUGHTS IX RHYME. 267 



LXXI. 
EYES AND STARS . 



It never was my lot to see 

The eyes whose beams illume the eve ; 
But eyes I know, well worth to me 

The stars that can such feats achieve. 

LXXII. 
NIGHT AND DAWN. 

Bright are the dreams of the sleeping Night, 
Though she ne'er can paint their forms in air ; 

She dreams of the many-coloured light, 
Of golden towers and phantoms fair. 

Whole hours she broods with longing eyes. 

And at last the sky begins to glow; 
But Night, in the moment of triumph, dies, 

And bequeaths to Morning the lovely show. 

Lxxin. 

THE SOLITARY. 

Lonely pilgrim, through a sphere, 

Where thou only art alone, 
Still thou hast thyself to fear, 

And can'st hope for help from none. 

LXXIV. 
THE HUSBANDMAN. 

Thou who long hast dug the soil ! 

Time has longer delved at thee : 
May the harvest of his toil 

Surer than thy harvest be. 



268 THOUGHTS IN RHYME. 

LXXV. 

SMILES. 

The childish smile is fair, but lovelier far 

The smiles which tell of griefs that now no longer are. 

LXXVI. 
CALM AND STORM. 

The stormy blast is strong, but mightier still 

The calm that binds the storm beneath its peaceful will. 

LXXVII. 
THE DESERT'S USE. 

Why wakes not life the desert bare and lone ? 
To show what all would be if she were gone. 

Lxxvni. 

POMPEII. 

The burning cone that pours its ashes down, 
Turning to tombs fields, garden, palace, town. 
Buries even graves. How strange ! a buried grave ! 
Death cannot from more death its own dead empire 
save. 

LXXIX. 
THE ROUND OF THE WHEEL. 

The miller feeds the mill, and the mill the miller : 
So death feeds life, and life too feeds its killer. 



THE END. 




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